


Reign of Chaos [Re-Upload]

by AquilaTempestas



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Assassin's Creed Syndicate, Drama, Family, Gen, How Syndicate should have gone, Novelisation, Redemption, Salvation, Steampunk, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 52,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25279489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquilaTempestas/pseuds/AquilaTempestas
Summary: Evie supports her brother's plan to remove the Templar presence from London however she begins to question his methods, worrying he's straying too far from the Creed. After all, the road to hell is often paved with good intentions. Re-telling of Syndicate.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was actually uploaded way back in 2015 and finished just a few weeks before Syndicate had been released. I based it off the trailers. Needless to say, I was a bit disappointed how my version was so different from the game but oh well. 
> 
> I took this story down (and everything else I had) in late 2015. I kinda just gave up on everything, and my own mental state just wasn't in a good place. So I took stuff down. It's been a few years now and I'm in a much happier state of mind fortunately, so here's the story again. 
> 
> If you remember it, hello! If you are new to this story, then I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> As for the cover? That was made by a good friend of mine, Nirianne.

**Prologue**

He curled his fingers into a fist as he drove it into his opponent’s jaw. The man staggered backwards, hand resting on his injured chin, too shocked to even speak. Before the man could attempt to find a weapon of his own to defend himself with, he was pushed up against the counter, a steel blade at his vulnerable throat.

“Be gentle, Jacob,” a woman said, features concealed by her hood. “We need this man alive.”

Jacob loosened his grip on the man’s shirt, but didn’t remove the blade. “How many gangs are there? Seven? Three? Nine? More than ten?” he demanded.

His victim stared up at him with a defiant gaze, blood trailing down the right side of his mouth. “Why would I tell you?” he spat, pushing aside a loose strand of platinum blond hair away from his right eye. “You think you can be a hero by stopping us? Our leaders maintain the peace. Without us, there would be total chaos in the streets! Is that what you want? Chaos?” The man forced a sardonic laugh.

Jacob punched the man in the face again. The laughter ceased immediately. “There are people around here that aren’t even getting paid, while there are others that have mountains of coin. Under Templar control, the difference between the poor and rich has never been greater.” He pressed the blade up against the man’s throat, but still not deep enough to cut the skin. He wanted to make the man squirm first.

“Steal from the rich and give to the poor. Still makes you a criminal,” the man said. “You people claim to live by a set of moral rules yet here you are. I’m sure you’ve killed more people than I have, Assassin. Maybe you hate us so much because we remind you of the worst parts of yourself,” he said, tone laced with distaste.

Jacob didn’t waste another second. He drew his arm back as he plunged his hidden blade into the man’s chest. A surprised gasp left the man’s throat, but there was nothing he could do. Blood seeped through the white cloth he wore as Jacob withdrew his blade. Another man dead, and it was only the second day of the new week.

“Was that really necessary?” a man said from behind. “We could’ve used him for information.”

Henry Green, a family friend, and a member of the fallen British Brotherhood. It was Henry who summoned them here to London to help out with the Templar problem, however he disproved of their methods. His preferred method of solving conflict was to discuss it with the opposing party. It was for that reason alone Evie had invited him to come along – she had hoped to use his diplomacy skills to obtain information from the Templar ally, yet Jacob had other ideas.

Withdrawing the hidden blade, Jacob turned around and shrugged. “He had nothing useful to say,” he said, wiping off the blood on his coat. Henry looked to the woman, but she didn’t say a word. With a sigh, Jacob added, “No need for the long face, Henry. We’ll find someone else more willing to talk. I’m sure someone will give us the locations of the Templars we seek.”

“Evie,” Henry started, looking towards the woman.

She shrugged. “We will find someone else.”

Jacob grinned. “See? Nothing to worry about. Now I’m heading home. See you both later.” Pulling back his hood, he walked over to the nearby table, and grabbed his black top hat. When the deed was done, he needed to blend in with the rest of the people as to not draw suspicion to him. No one would suspect a thing.

He was aware that his sister was glaring at him, but he didn’t stop to talk to her. He’d listen to her lecture later when he had a chance to clean up after today’s events. She was angry – he could tell without even having to look at her – but he’d deal with her later. Right now he wanted to sit back and relax. Without saying another word, he exited the building.

.

Evie crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at the entrance of the bar. Seconds earlier, her brother had just walked out without even bothering to offer an explanation. As per usual, she was left behind to clean up his mess. She loved him dearly, but sometimes his actions caused more problems than solved. This was one of those times.

She turned her attention towards the corpse of a bartender now lying in a pool of blood on the floor. The man wasn’t a Templar himself, but he did spend an awful amount of time walking down the same routes. She suspected he was a messenger for the Templar leaders, delivering messengers between the various factions. It was unfortunate her brother had killed him, but that’s generally how he dealt with problems.

Fortunately, it was night. Midnight to be precise. The local townsfolk were fast asleep, and all the bars were closed in the district, meaning there’d be no stragglers walking around. Finding the Templar supporter had been easy – the man had exited from a nearby bar making him an easy target to disarm. Her brother had made short work of him – a punch in the stomach and a fist to the head, and the man was brought to the ground. Now they were here inside an abandoned bar with nothing but rats to keep them company.

  
“We’ll have to remove the body. This bar might be abandoned but people, especially children, like to snoop around,” Henry pointed out, moving to the opposite side of the man, glancing down with disappointment. “Now we’ll have to find someone else.”

If the man had been her victim she would’ve released him and tracked him. Unfortunately, her brother’s inability to control his anger meant she had to think up of any other plan of finding the hideouts of the Templar leaders. “I’ll keep a lookout tomorrow. Help me move the body please,” she said, gesturing to the corpse on the floor. Henry was right – despite the place being abandoned, it didn’t mean it was safe to hide bodies behind the broken barrels in the shadows.

Henry dropped to his knees and placed his hands beneath the man’s arms. Evie grabbed the legs and together, the two Assassins lifted the body up from the floor. “We’ll dump the body out the back, and I’ll send some of me men to rid the body during the night when there are less people about.”

Evie didn’t like the idea of leaving a body in the sewers until nightfall, but who explored that area anyway? “All right.” They carried the body out through the back door towards the sewer system to dispose of the body. A few rats scurried past along the cobblestones, but they were harmless. Once done, they covered the entrance with some garbage then headed back inside to clean up the remainder of the mess.

“You’re going to have to keep an eye on him,” Henry said, searching for a brush to scrub the floor with. “Your brother, that is. If this continues, the Templars will be the least of our problems.”

He was referring to the police force. Their job was to patrol the streets and ensure the people were safe. So far, the police hadn’t been a problem, but things could easily change. She glanced up from the floor. “You and I both know that my brother can’t be controlled. He wants nothing more than to run wild on the streets.” That made him a liability. Jacob had a knack for finding himself in difficult situations and seemed to thrive on it. Despite being raised as an Assassin, her brother cared little about stealth. In fact, he seemed to care little about the teachings of the brotherhood itself.

“I’ll be back shortly. This mess isn’t going to clean without water,” Henry replied, turning his back to head to explore the kitchen area of the bar.

Evie glanced down at the fallen Templar ally and sighed once more. If only her brother had better self-control then they wouldn’t be in this situation. But chaos made him happy, and he was happiest when he was right in the middle of the fight, using nothing else but his fists to gain the upper advantage. He had all the makings of being the perfect Assassin, better than herself in fact, but for whatever reason he simply didn’t care. He lived by his own set of rules and guidelines and that made him dangerous.

Henry returned with two scrubbing brushes and a bucket of hot soapy water. “You are the only one he listens to, Evie. Your brother wishes to eliminate the Templar presence here in London.” He lowered himself down to the floor and began to scrub away at the blood. Evie picked up the other brush, dunked it into the water and started scrubbing. Fortunately, the blood was still fresh.

“And he has my full support,” Evie replied, dunking her brush into the water. Within moments, the water in the bucket had turned a dark red. She tapped the brush on the bucket’s rim several times then continued to scrub away at the floor.

“You are but two people trying to take back control from multiple gangs of Templars. We don’t even know how many of them there are out there yet,” he advised, pausing briefly. She tilted her head to the side, an eyebrow raised. He cleared his throat and continued. “Your father taught you both well, but that alone won’t help you win.”

Evie scrubbed harder. “We’ll find a way to gain the advantage.” It would take a bit of time, but all legends started with nothing. All they needed was names of the faces of their enemies and the takeover would commence. “Assassins before our time managed to find a way to overcome the Templar Order – What makes you think we can’t achieve the same results?”

“The Assassins failed before, Evie.”

“Things are going to be different now. My brother and I are here.”

Henry’s expression remained neutral. “I wish I shared your optimism, but I don’t see how it’s possible. The Templar force is far too great and their influence is widespread. Merchants, carriage drivers, and the wealthy districts all support the Templar cause. By taking on the Templars, you are creating civil war.”

She detected the bitterness in his tone. Although Henry had been their friend for over a decade now, he was still a mystery to her. He never spoke of his time during the peak years of the British Brotherhood – that topic was avoided at all costs. When someone brought it up, Henry would change the topic. Whatever had happened during that era must’ve left deep wounds. She didn’t question him about it. He’d speak of it when the time was right and she would listen.

“The working class has suffered long enough. Something needs to be done.”

He sighed. “I can see that you’ve made up your mind, and I won’t be able to change that. I only ask that you remember the oath you swore when you became part of the Order, Evie. Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent, hide in plain sight and be one with the crowd, and never compromise the Brotherhood.”

She nodded. “I never break my promises, Henry. You have no reason to fear that I will stray from our Order’s teachings.”

“And your brother? You and I both know he pushes those boundaries. I fear to think what will happen if those boundaries are overstepped.”

She paused then nodded again. “I’ll keep a watchful eye on him.”

There was silence until Henry spoke again. She knew he wasn’t convinced, but she also knew when to drop the debate. “You should head home and speak to your brother. I’ll clean up the rest of the mess here.” She looked at him, an eyebrow raised. “Go on, Evie. I’ll be fine. I’ll let you know if I have any leads.”

She climbed to her feet. “You know where to find me.” Henry resumed scrubbing, and Evie headed towards the door, pulling her hood over her head.


	2. Plans

There were times Jacob regretted living so far out from the main city; yes, he could climb the walls and take shortcuts to get to his destinations much quicker, but you never knew who could be watching you. It was safer to use the transportation system the people of London relied on to cover large distances. 

Trains were expensive, so Jacob opted to go with the horse carriage system instead. It cost anything between five and ten pounds depending on how much ground you needed to cover. Fortunately, his parents had left him and sister with a reasonable amount of wealth to survive in London though he preferred to earn his own income by winning bar brawls and hosting alley way fights.

Evie disproved of his methods; he was aware of that fact, but it did nothing to deter him. He never felt more alive and freer when in the middle of fight. There were no rules to follow. He could do what he pleased. Evie was so much like their father that it was no surprise she had obtained the rank of a Master Assassin by the age of eighteen. She was the golden child of the siblings whilst he was the black sheep. 

Throughout his childhood years, his father had been constantly on his back, forcing him to improve so that one day he too could rise to the top of Brotherhood ranks. Ethan Frye believed that if Jacob became an Assassin it would control his rebellious spirit and turn him into a better person. So far, he had proven wrong. The only thing being an Assassin had taught him was how to handle himself in a fight and win, even if the odds were stacked against him.

Perhaps that’s why his father died – perhaps he died of shame because his son had ‘failed’ him. “Are you just going to stand there all day long or are you going to pay for a ride?” Jacob’s thoughts were broken by a hoarse male voice. He was standing before a horse carriage and a man with a moustache giving him a sour look.

Jacob cleared his throat. “Take me to Lambeth.”

“That will be five pounds.”

He dug a hand into one of the inside pockets of his black trench coat then handed the man the amount required. The carriage rider seemed surprised, but he didn’t say anything. He motioned for Jacob to climb on. As soon as Jacob sat down next the driver, rain drops started to fall. Great, he thought bitterly. A ride in the rain.   
“What brings you here to the heart of London?”

Small talk. The popular method of avoiding awkward silences. He was more than happy to play along; it would keep his thoughts from thinking about his father at least. “Visiting friends,” he replied.

“Your friends live quite the distance from you.”

He nodded. “That’s a good thing. Means I don’t have to see them too often.” Truth was he didn’t spend a lot of time with anyone else aside from Henry and Evie. Anyone could be a Templar, and if they knew he was an Assassin, their lives would become a little more complicated than he would like. 

The man snorted. “Not much of a people-person then? Can’t say I blame you; hard to trust anyone these days. A man’s body was found dead last week – did you hear about that?”

Ah yes, that was a Templar called George. Jacob remembered getting into a fist-fight with the man after an interrogation session went poorly. It was George who gave them the location of the messenger, the male he killed last night in the abandoned bar. Jacob shook his head. “Nope. Didn’t hear anything about it at all.”

“Well, you should be careful out there. The authorities have put out a word there’s a criminal on the streets. You don’t want to be caught by yourself alone at night, especially in a dark alleyway.” 

The man paused and focused his attention on his driving, making a sharp right turn into a crowded alley. Scruffy clothes, dirt stains and rubbish on the streets told him this was one of the many poor districts within London. It was also a sign there were Templars within the area ruling with an iron fist. 

“A criminal, you say? What do they say this person has done?” Jacob inquired.

“They believe the criminal is male, and that he’s efficient with hand-to-hand combat.”

He raised a brow. “How do they know?”

“Studying the marks on the body uncovered. No signs of any weapons being used.”

Templar George was new. It only took a couple of seconds to disarm the man of his weapon and snap his neck. “Anything else?” Jacob said, trying to keep his voice steady, but failed to conceal the edge in his tone. His sister was going to be absolutely thrilled to hear of this. Most likely it would lead to another argument in which she accuses him of a ‘bull-headed reckless fool’.

The man turned to face him, a dark thick brow raised. “You seem anxious.”

“Concerned, that’s all. A criminal on the streets? Tell me why I shouldn’t be worried.”

The man relaxed. “I understand; I am concerned myself, but you needn’t worry; more Templars have been called to the area to the patrol the streets. The criminal will be found and will be given the justice he deserves – a quick merciless death.” 

They turned another corner, this time to the left. This street was less busy than the previous, but still had its fair share of poor. Some were sleeping on the ground with nothing but a dirty rag to keep them warm, whilst others were searching for food on among the rubbish. Templars had stripped these people off basic human needs and wants. Templars had obtained more power whilst hundreds of people were left to suffer. He felt that familiar sensation of hot anger rising from within as he gripped the side of his seat with his right hand, so firmly his fingers and wrist started to hurt.

The man faced him again sizing him up, eyes then resting on the sleeve of his trench coat. His eyes moved along his arm stopping at his left hand. “What’s that? A fancy glove?” the man said, gesturing to the gauntlet on his left hand. “Can’t say I’ve seen it sold in the shops around here.”

Jacob wasn’t surprised. He often caught the locals looking at it with awe. Sometimes they said him about, and he simply told them it was just a glove to hide an injury. That was enough to make people stop asking questions – some then believed he was disease and maintained a healthy distance. “I fell ill several years ago, and it affected my hand,” Jacob lied. “It did some nasty damage to the skin on my left hand, so I had this crafted to hide the scars. Can’t walk around with a scarred hand now, can I? What would the locals think?” he added tersely, placing his left arm beneath his right one. Situations like these were always awkward. 

The gauntlet was more than just a fancy glove. It was the mark of an Assassin. The gauntlet looked like a simple device, but it was made to kill. On the underside of the gauntlet was the favoured hidden blade and rope launcher. The hidden blade was used assassinations and the rope launcher used to cover large distances with ease. In addition, he carried a few hallucinogenic darts to cripple opponents and turn them against each other, but he preferred not to use them. Why watch two people fight when you could be the one fighting?

Aside from the gauntlet, he carried a few extra weapons as back up. His fists were his primary and favoured method of close combat, but he did carry a revolver and a cane sword to use against those pesky Templars who carried melee weapons of their own. He also had a few throwing knives at his disposal though he made little use of them. Throwing knives from the shadows was Evie’s preferred style of combat, and he didn’t want to copy her. 

The driver fell silent for the first time during the ride. Sudden silence was worrying. Did the man suspect he was the man responsible for the murder of the Templar? Before he could ask questions of his own, they turned around into another street. This street was mostly devoid of life except for one girl with brown pigtails clad in a green dress. She couldn’t be any older than a teenager. What was she doing out here all alone? 

He averted his gaze and turned back to the driver again. The man was still eyeing the glove. Discomforted, Jacob fidgeted in his seat and cleared his throat. “It’s nothing special.”

The man frowned. “Hold on a second… I’m sure I’ve sketches of these gloves before somewhere in a book…” he murmured, as he turned another corner. “What were they called again? They were like some sort of cult.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is Assassin, lad,” Jacob answered. “I wouldn’t say they’re part of a cult, but they’re an uptight bunch of pricks. They fight for freedom, yet they’re bound to some stupid Creed,” he added. It was no secret he had no love for the teachings of the Brotherhood. He didn’t quite understand why the Assassins were so intent on following it. His sister, his father, Henry Green… they all took the teachings to heart.

“Assassins…” the man repeated. “You are a learned man?”

He gave a low chuckle. “I suppose you could say that… But I never went to college. I was home-schooled. History was important to my family.” Indeed, it was. For an hour each day, he was required to read up on the history of infamous Assassins of the past. Altair. Ezio. Connor. Edward. Arno. He supposed his father thought he’d be inspired by their actions and become a better Assassin. Evie enjoyed it. He often caught her head buried in the books of the past for hours. All it did was make his head hurt.

“Do you think these Assassins live here in London?” 

Jacob raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think that?”

“There hasn’t been a murder like that in years,” the man said. “That’s all my passengers have been talking about all week long – the murder of the poor innocent man. Why would anyone do such a thing? What possesses one man to kill another?”

“Power. Money. The thrill,” Jacob replied. “Times are tough. Desperate times call for risky actions.” Not surprising either considering what the standard of living was here. He had seen a few small gangs in the alleys near their home in Lambeth. In fact, he had come to know a few of them personally. 

“You’re referring to the thugs, aren’t you? The police promised to clean the streets, but they haven’t done a bloody thing. It’s not safe at night, you know – a couple of weeks ago they say a carriage was robbed in Whitechapel by a couple of street thugs.” He leaned over to the side and spat over the edge onto the cobblestones below then faced Jacob again. 

Jacob furrowed his brows. Speaking ill of the city’s most charming residents didn’t sit well with him. The so-called ‘thugs’ were part of his family – he understood their plight and appreciated their sense of loyalty and respect towards each other. They were labelled as ‘criminals’ by the police and the wealthy, but Jacob saw them as friends. “I’m new to London. You seem well-informed. What can you tell me about the gangs here?”

“Depends on what type of gang you want information on. We have two types – the good and the bad.”

“Tell me more about the ‘good’ kind.”

Colour drained from the man’s face. “The Templars, surely you’ve heard of them? They helped us. They purged many of the streets of thugs. They protect us when the police can’t.”

So, the man was a Templar supporter. No surprises there. He suspected the entire transportation industry was under Templar control which would make a lot of sense. They were the eyes and ears and knew the roads better than anyone else. Drivers probably heard more gossip than the townsfolk did at the taverns. It made the drivers quite the threat. “Do you know who leads the Templars? I’d like to meet him. You see I’m looking for some work.”

“Her,” the driver corrected. “Her name is Bloody Nora.”

He couldn’t help it. He chuckled. “Bloody Nora?”

“It’s no laughing matter. She’s the toughest gang member in London. Men and women tremble at the mention of her name.” And apparently, so did this driver. His skin had turned a sickly pale colour. Whoever this Bloody Nora lady was she must be someone intimidating to have that affect on most people. That only made him keen to meet with her. “How can I find her?”

“Bloody Nora will find you when she wants to be found,” the man replied. “You don’t just organize a meeting with her unless you’re important. And I’m sorry, but you’re not. Your life is meaningless to her. If you want to meet with her then you must make yourself known to the public. Only then will she care.”

It seemed like the man knew Bloody Nora on a personal level thus confirming his suspicions the transportation industry, especially the carriages, was allied with the Templars. “Then I better make myself known to her then,” Jacob replied with a grin then raised a hand. “Stop here,” he added, pointing to the sidewalk.

The driver pulled over to the side as requested. “I can stop at your place.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. No offense, but I’d prefer to walk,” Jacob replied, rising to his feet. If the man was close to Bloody Nora, then he didn’t want the driver coming anywhere close to his place of residence. Templars already had enough spies patrolling the streets. He didn’t want to add his house to that list. He paid the man his gold and jumped over the edge. “I’m sure I’ll see you again… What was your name?”

“Mercutio.”

“Off with you then. I’m sure you have other places to be.”

Mercutio sighed, and mumbled something. He was sure it was an insult of some kind. “Lock the doors at night. Best to be cautious in these dangerous times.”

“Will do.” He waited until Mercutio prompted his horses to move before he started walking. Evie was probably on the way home. He knew what was to come – a long winded lecture about how he had screwed up again. Sighing to himself, he recycled old excuses in his mind as he headed back towards his place of residence.

.

Jacob walked through the front entrance of his house and made his way up the staircase to the upper level. The place was small, and space was tight, but it served as decent accommodation. It had also been quite cheap to purchase in comparison to the other districts. The downside was that they were quite far out from the city and journeying back and forth cost a fair bit of money. He had suggested stealing a carriage for their own use, but his sister disproved. She was in the room now sitting down at a table, arms crossed over her chest. 

Still sour then over this morning’s events, he thought. “What’s the matter, sister?” he said, taking the chair opposite to her.

“We don’t kill the innocent,” Evie said.

“He was connected with the Templars,” Jacob explained. “That makes him automatically guilty by association,” he added, attempting to inject humour into the conversation. Her features hardened. “Lighten up, sister. It’s not as bad as you believe it to be. We lost our lead, but we gained another. I caught a ride home today and the driver told me a Templar by the name of Bloody Nora oversees the Templars.”

“And you believe what a driver has to say?”

He shrugged. “He’s part of it, Evie. Transportation industry. Templars are most likely using them as spies which makes a lot of sense. They know more about the city than town gossips do.” He paused for a few moments, waiting for her to speak, but she remained silent. He continued. “Maybe we should visit the Seven Bells. We might hear something there. Fairly sure Mercutio knows more than what he was letting on.”

“That would be good. Henry’s invited us there, so we can discuss a plausible strategy to defeat the Templars.”

“Henry wanting to talk strategy? Why, I didn’t think he was too keen on the idea of taking London back from the Templars,” Jacob replied curtly.

“He used to be part of the Brotherhood, Jacob. Show him some respect.”

He sighed. “I’m just saying he’s not interested in removing them by force. That’s the only option we have because diplomacy isn’t going to change anything.” He sat down across from her and placed a fist on the table. “This is gang politics, Evie. They’re only going to respond with force. Remove the leaders and the followers will lose morale and disband.”

She brought a hand to her chin, resting her elbow on the table, emerald eyes locked on his face. Curious eyes, full of questions no doubt. “A two-person gang isn’t much of a threat.”

“We need more firepower. We recruit our own members.”

She raised a brow, disbelief on her face. “You want to start your own gang by picking people off the streets? They’ll need to know how to fight. They need to be convinced we can give them what they want – a decent life.”

A smile spread across his face. “Then we agree – we fight fire with fire and form our own gang. I’ve even got a name for them – the Rooks.” He started to rise from his chair believing the conversation to be over, but his sister motioned for him to remain seated. “What?”

Her stern look remained. “But even with an army at our disposal, a direct conflict with the Templar gangs will only end in disaster. We can’t bring open warfare to the streets of London nor can we risk capturing the attention of the police – we’ll take them out one by one the way our father taught us.”

Scout the area first, find the target to assassinate in the safety of the shadows then move onto the next target. It was the safe way. The smart method so to speak. He could see the benefits of stealth, but that was boring and too restrictive for him. He was the type of person who would rather take the fun exciting way out – clear out the entire area then walk out the front door. 

Jacob rolled his eyes. “You’ve never witnessed a street alley fight between rival gangs. Sneaking around isn’t an option in this situation. We’ll be taken for cowards, and cowards aren’t respected. Without respect, we’ll have no power, and we’ll need all the power we can get if we have any hope of winning this war.”

“You can’t always rely on physical strength to obtain victory. We need to develop strategies and plan accordingly in advance. Co-ordinate our attacks. Understand our enemies and their movements. Basic stuff,” Evie countered.

“I’ll leave the sneaking and spying up to you then, but I’ll lead our people,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “No offense, but I’m the only one who can. You said it yourself – I know the street life. You don’t. Leave the recruitment and actual fighting part to me, and we have ourselves a deal.” 

She was silent again. He could see her mind at work. She was probably thinking of a few different strategies as they spoke. Typical Evie. Always had to be prepared before walking into something. She was too cautious for her own good. She hadn’t yet realized sometimes you had to be spontaneous. Evie tilted her head to the side, giving him one of her calculating looks, then said, “Just don’t break your oaths and we’ll have no trouble.”

She referred to the oath he had sworn when he joined the Brotherhood. Of course, she would have to bring that up. His sister was always the one who followed all the rules and took her role seriously. The level-headed one. The responsible sibling. The mature sister. The favourite sibling. The perfect Assassin. He forced the thoughts aside before he started thinking of his father again. “I swear, I’ll be good.”

“Then we’ll pay this bar a visit.” She rose up from her chair swiftly, turned her back and headed towards the door.


	3. Darkened Days to Come

**Chapter Two: Darkened Days to Come**

Mercutio parked his carriage before the turn at the end of the street and climbed down onto the pavement below. Turning to his right, he spotted two males dressed in tattered clothes standing nearby, lips pressed into a thin line. They acknowledged him with a nod and he responded with one of his own.

To the average citizen, they were just low-class commoners, but he knew what they truly were. They belonged to one of the seven gangs of London and patrolled the Whitechapel district. Disguising themselves as one of the unfortunate drew less suspicion from unwanted eyes. Drawing in a deep breath, Mercutio sauntered towards the two undercover guards, carrying two pouches of coins in both hands.

Every Monday he would visit the Whitechapel Templar base and bring his boss his earnings of the previous week. Bloody Nora would take ninety-five percent of the total, and give him just enough to make it to the following week to continue his payments. In exchange for the currency, he was given food, water and shelter. If he hadn’t sworn his allegiance to the Templars, he would’ve been living in the heart of the slums as well.

The Templars grabbed the money bags off him and escorted him down a dark alleyway. Despite having walked down this path many times, Mercutio couldn’t shake off the feeling he was in danger. The streets of London had never been safe, but over the past couple of years, the crime rate had increased significantly. The increase in the crime rate caught the attention of Templars who decided their presence was needed to control the chaos.

There were seven Templar leaders; one leader for each of the seven districts. What started off as a means for controlling the chaos turned into an opportunity to make a lot of money by exploiting the people. Those who were already poor became poorer whilst the rich, the Templars and their allies, became even richer. Despite the unfairness of the entire situation, there was no one neither brave nor smart enough to rally against the Templars and overthrow them. The only option was to form an alliance with the Templars if you wanted survive.

“Bloody Nora awaits you in the courtyard,” the first of the Templar guards said. Mercutio didn’t know their names nor bothered to ask. The Templars weren’t exactly kind people to those outside their order though he suspected Bloody Nora’s influence had rubbed off on them a bit.

Mercutio nodded, knowing it was best not to speak. He followed the Templars towards the courtyard bypassing a few more open alleyways, thankful they were no thieves around. The thieves never dared to attack whilst there were Templars about, but they were known to follow people for a short distance then make a robbery attempt. Fortunately, there were never any reported deaths, but it was still a nerve-wrecking experience walking around alone.

They continued walking past a few dull and beaten down buildings until they reach the courtyard. In the centre of the courtyard was a ring of pebbles around a single plane tree. Standing beneath it, was Bloody Nora herself, dressed in her usual navy blue coat. The Templar insignia, a red cross, was clearly displayed on the right lapel of her coat.

“You are late, Mercutio,” the woman said, raising her right hand to reveal a revolver. “I was about to send a search party for you. I trust you have brought our payment?” she added, turning her head to the left to face him, her dark eyes as cold as ice.

Mercutio nodded. “Y-yes madam,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

She walked forward and stopped a few inches in front of him, her cold and calculating gaze never leaving his face. “Excellent. Hand it over.” Mercutio’s escorts handed the pouches of money over to their leader. She jingled the two bags in the air testing their weight. “Lighter than last weeks. Do I have to fire you and recruit someone else who can meet the minimum each week? Well?”

He cleared his throat. “I-I will raise the prices.”

She smiled. “Good. Charge people an extra five pounds. If anyone complains, give them this permit.” Placing her gun back into its holster on the right side of her hip, the woman reached into her pocket pulling out a piece of parchment. She handed it over to him.

Mercutio took it and unfolded it. The words were written in ink and gave him the power to raise the prices of transportation as he saw fitting. Below the ink was the Templar insignia to make it official. The symbol was well-recognized here – people knew not to disobey or there would be trouble. He folded it up and put it in his pocket.

“Th-thank you.” Mercutio cursed himself for his inability to speak properly, but Bloody Nora was a vicious woman. She had little tolerance for failures. Those who had failed were removed from their service and sentenced to live in the slums. Many former workers were made examples of and left crippled so they were no longer a threat to the Templar Order.

“Have you any news to report then? Perhaps you can make up for being short this week with important information about the murderer of our men. Have you seen any suspicious people around? Perhaps heard anything down at the Seven Bells bar?” she demanded, studying his features intently.

His thoughts focused on the man he had met late yesterday afternoon, the one with the gloved hand. When asked about it, his passenger simply stated it was to hide an injury, but Mercutio wasn’t so sure. Whitechapel wasn’t known for its wealth – people here didn’t have the money to purchase gloves. Injuries to the hands were covered with scrap pieces of material instead.

He also wore a black trench coat which he found suspicious. Again, people living in this area were poor. Even simple rags were hard to come by let alone a trench coat and a top hat. He also seemed a little too evasive with some of his responses, in particular the ones relating to the murder of George. It was almost as if he had been trying too hard to pretend he knew nothing of the incident.

Mercutio took in another deep breath and tried to calm his nerves. What if the man was the criminal behind the murder of George? What if he was one of the feared Assassins he had heard much about during tavern gossip? He may not hold the Templars in high-regard, but they were his source of security and income. Their laws might be cruel, but at least the streets were much safer than they once were.

“I met a young adult male yesterday,” Mercutio said, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake. If the man wasn’t what he suspected, then Bloody Nora would have him flogged for wasting her time and resources. “He seems quite wealthy,” he added. “I’ve never seen folks around here wearing gloves before in all my years of life.”

Bloody Nora raised an eyebrow. “A glove you say? What did it look like?”

“He wore it on his left hand only. Black it was. I remember hearing gossip about the Assassins of the British Brotherhood who wore gloves as well down at the Seven Bells bar in Central London,” Mercutio added. “He said he wanted to meet with you.”

The Templar leader glanced down at her revolver. “An Assassin… here in London…” she murmured. She pulled her finger on the trigger, but fortunately it wasn’t loaded. “Would explain the deaths of my men.”

“I have reason to believe he’s the murderer.”

Bloody Nora chuckled. “Then we’ll lure him out into the open.”

Mercutio frowned. “Isn’t that dangerous? If he’s an Assassin then they’ve come here to fight you.” He had heard many stories about the legendary deeds of Assassins. Names such as Altair, Ezio and Connor were mentioned frequently in the tales and rumours though he couldn’t tell if they were exaggerated or not. In the tales shared at the tavern, men claimed the Assassin’s were masters of stealth, and would attack without warning. The victims in most cases never even had a chance to defend themselves.

“I relish the challenge, Mercutio, haven’t you learned anything yet?” she replied, heaving a sigh. “I’m not going to start anything until this Assassin makes the first move. We don’t want the good people of London to fear us, do we? If this Assassin wants to start a war then we’ll happily accommodate his wish,” she added, pushing a strand of loose hair away from her right eye behind her ear.

“What should I do?”

She moved forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You continue looking out for information and keeping an eye on things,” she said, digging a hand into one of the pouches. She grabbed a few coins then handed the money pouch back to Mercutio. “Take a few extra pounds for your efforts, Mercutio. You have done well. Return to your work. I will see you at the same time next Monday.” Mercutio helped himself to a few extra coins, grateful for the reward. It wasn’t often allies of the Templars were praised.

He nodded. “Thank you, madam.” He bowed then turned his back and headed towards his carriage, escorted by the Templar guards.

.

Finding a carriage willing to take them to Central London early in the morning was proving to be more difficult than he had thought. Normally, he travelled during the middle of the day since he liked to sleep in, but Evie insisted they leave early. They were now standing outside on the street in the dark since the sun had yet not risen.

“This is ridiculous,” Jacob muttered.

“We should be prepared for anything. The Seven Bells is the most popular bar in the city – Templars will be great in number, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there will be a few stationed there tonight. There’ll probably be more than usual patrolling the area thanks to your actions. We’ll need to study the area – know the best escape routes rather than leaving it the last moment,” she explained. Evie had the entire thing planned out already. He was just there to do all the talking.

“Just stick to the shadows and don’t reveal yourself.” Evie didn’t reply. She turned her head away from him, glancing to their right, searching for a carriage to arrive. There were none present. “If we start walking now, we’ll get there by nightfall,” he added as an afterthought.

She raised a hand. “Do you hear that?”

He stopped talking and listened carefully. Concentrate and your senses will pick up on things the average person ignores. It was one of the teachings he remembered his father giving. He called it ‘Eagle Vision’, a sixth sense all humans possessed. Though everyone could harness the sense, many people did not know it existed or only learned to use it in their later years of life. Only those who were born with the gift, known as the naturally gifted, were able to use it to its full potential.

Jacob preferred not to use it when possible as he felt it made things way too easy. Being able to see who his targets were from a distance wasn’t his idea of an enjoyable fight. What fun was there when the victim had already lost before the fight had even begun?

“There’s a carriage approaching,” Evie said.

He heard it too. It was coming from the right. “I see it.” The carriage was approaching at a slow pace. As the carriage drew closer, the rider’s features became clearly visible to him. It took him a few seconds to recognize it was the same man from yesterday, the one who had given him the name Bloody Nora.

Mercutio didn’t seem surprised to see him. “You need a ride again?”

He nodded. “To Central London.”

“Visiting family and friends?”

He nodded once more. “Yes.”

“The trip to Central London will cost you ten pounds.”

An extra five pounds? He narrowed his eyes. “It cost me five for the same trip yesterday.”

“You can pay the price or you can walk to Central London,” the driver replied in a bored tone, as if he had heard this debate many times before. He reached down into a pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment. “I have received a permit from the authorities in this district, granting me the power to raise the price of transportation costs.”

He held it out and Jacob and snatched it off him. Unfurling the parchment, he read the words on it. The man spoke true. He had been granted the right to charge at the approval of the Templar Order who obviously had the power here. Did all the drivers in the region work for the Templars? It would make sense if they did. What better way to learn all the ins and outs of London from the transportation service?

“We’ll gladly pay the required cost,” Evie said, reaching down into her coat to pull out a pouch of pounds. She opened it up, counted the required amount then handed a few pounds over to the man. He gave her a hard stare then nodded, motioning for them both to climb on board. “Please, take us to Central London.”

“Of course.” The driver pulled on the reigns, prompting the horses to move forward. He didn’t make an attempt to start a conversation until they reached the end of the street. “I hope I don’t sound like I’m prying, but would you mind telling me who you are? You already know me as Mercutio, and I’ve lived in this city for twenty years now.”

Jacob didn’t reply. He was still annoyed over the price increase and how his sister was happy enough to pay for it. At least it hadn’t been his earnings – it had taken three street victories to earn fifteen pounds. Still, it was a big price to pay and money was hard to come by.

“I’m Jennifer, and this is my brother, George.”

Jacob snorted. How original using false names. He supposed it would make it a little harder to track them down should people start asking questions, but George? He glowered at his sister as if to say, ‘really?’

Silence fell. The only source of noise came from the horses’ hooves as they trotted along another deserted street. Horse droppings littered the street, making it obvious it was a popular route for drivers to take. The poor probably spend their days washing the road and removing wastage for little coin, whilst the rich were able to enjoy the finest things life had to offer.

He spotted a few police officers on the opposite side of the street, milling around in front of a shop. Each man was dressed in black uniform and wore a matching black helmet atop their heads. The Metropolitan Police of London, servants of justice, or so they liked to assume. The truth was these men didn’t care for the people – the only cared about their pay check at the end of week. “Police,” Jacob said.

“They won’t bother us,” Mercutio said. “We’re not criminals so we have nothing to worry about,” he added, turning around the corner into another street. Unlike the former streets, this one was occupied. Mercutio seemed surprised – Jacob noted how his fingers tightened around the reins of the horses. “Thugs do not normally venture this close…” he murmured.

Up ahead, Jacob spotted a group of five men leaning up against a wall, each bearing a symbol that marked them as part of a gang of some sort. It was of a plain white ‘X’, though it meant little to him. These men were dressed in simple garments – two of the men were even lacking shirts – suggesting that a group of poor men had come together in hopes they’d find better success working as a team.

“We must turn back and warn the authorities of their presence,” Mercutio said, preparing to turn his horses around.

Jacob shook his head. “No. They’ll take you for a coward if you run. They’ve seen our faces - they’ll remember to deal with us another day. Running isn’t an option. We deal with them now.” It had been a couple of days since his last encounter with a gang. In his eyes, they were not criminals. They were just people hard done by the system the Templars had put in place.

Evie grabbed his left arm. “We have other matters to attend to, George.”

He knew that look all too well - that one where she looked directly into his eyes and held his gaze until he looked away and he always surrendered. Drawing in a deep breath, he sighed and said, “Fine.” He turned to Mercutio. “Well, you heard her. Turn these horses around and take us to the Seven Bells.”

“Of course.”

.


	4. Climb the Mountain

The moment she stepped foot through the doors of the Seven Bells, she regretted it. The place was big enough with two floors, but the stench of the alcohol was enough to make her stomach churn. Alcohol wasn’t something she had acquired a taste for unlike her brother who deemed it a necessity. She walked through the entrance and kept her head low preferring not to make eye contact with any of the locals. The goal was to get a taste of the place then explore the environment outside.

But first, she was going to talk to the bartender while she waited for her brother. He had earned the attentions of some women, and was currently chatting with them both. In a few minutes, he’d join up with her but for now she was on her own. She walked past a couple of tables ignoring the looks she was receiving.

There was only one person carrying out the waitress duties – a young girl with brown pigtails wearing a green dress. She was walking back and forth between the counter and tables bringing out beer to the patrons. Evie raised a brow – the girl seemed a little too young to be working in a place like this, but she supposed it was better than being out on the streets. Perhaps this was a family business.

The owner was obviously the bartender. She spotted a middle-aged man with thin short light brown hair busy searching through the bottles on the shelves behind the counter. The bottles were lined up on a fancy ornate brown shelf, arranged in a way that made it easy to tell which one was which. Above each section was a label. The labels read as: Bonders of Old, High-Class Whiskies, and Direct Imports. On either side of the shelves was a trio of barrels most likely placed there for atmospheric reasons. The counter itself was a mahogany brown with decorated edges coupled with a four red pub chairs without spindles.

“Evie?”

Evie was about to reach the counter when she heard her voice. Turning around, she was surprised to see Henry clad in his usual colourful robes, holding a mug of ale in his right hand. “Henry,” she said, acknowledging his presence with a nod. “I didn’t know you liked to drink?”

“You are correct – I don’t, but we need to blend in with the environment.” He gestured towards an empty table in the far eastern corner of the dining area. “Come, let us sit.” Evie followed him towards the table and took the seat on the right. He leaned forward. “Where is your brother?”

“He’s outside talking to some women.”

“Prostitutes, then.”

“Hm?”

“They usually hang around taverns because it’s the easiest way to pick up men and earn some money,” Henry explained. “They work for the Templars, Evie. They’re spies. Sleep with willing men. Take their money after getting information. How else do you think the Templars became so powerful?”

More enemies, and what a wonderful disguise it was. Undercover Templars posing as prostitutes. No one would suspect a thing, but she knew her brother would resist. For one, he would never pay to share a bed with someone. “He’ll be with us shortly. What information do you have?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing – did you speak with your brother about dealing with the Templars?”

She nodded. “Yes, and we have a plan.”

“I’m not going to like it, am I?” The disdain was all too evident in his tone.

“I’ll let my brother explain. Better it comes from him than from me.” Henry brought the rim of the mug to his lips then took a sip before putting it back down. How had he convinced the bartender to give him water anyway, and how much had it cost? Evie glanced over her shoulder and looked towards the entrance. She was about to stand up from her seat and head outside to drag her brother in, but he stepped through the doorway a few moments later. He caught their eye and wandered over.

“Prostitutes in broad daylight?” he said, planting himself down besides Evie. “Templars certainly have a bizarre sense of humour. Taking money off the weak and using that to strengthen their fortress here. What do you think their end game is? Are they hoping to impress the Queen?” he said heatedly, obviously annoyed at the recent event.

“They’re spies, brother. I have to give the Templars credit – they’ve done well building up a network,” Evie said.

“And we have to tear it down,” he replied curtly. “There is no time to waste. We start building up a gang of our own and we take the fight to the Templars in the alleys. We’ll invade their boroughs, kill their leaders, and convert their followers to our cause by whatever means necessary.”

Henry took a drink from his mug again then cleared his throat. “You want to start a gang of your own? How is that going to make things better? You’ll start a war and there will be causalities.”

Evie leaned forward, both elbows resting on the table. “We’ll be careful. We won’t draw attention from unwanted eyes. We’ll plan ahead and take appropriate measures to ensure we don’t make the same mistake the Assassins of the British Brotherhood made.” That meant no making treaties with the Templars and hoping they’d eventually leave to maintain the peace.

“Forming your own gang and using them to control the city… Doesn’t this sound all too familiar to what the Templars are doing?” Henry replied, shifting his eyes between the twins, an expression of disbelief on his features.

“What else do you suggest then? I see no other alternative. The Templars are large in number; the Brotherhood no longer has any power here in London. We have to make do with the resources that we have,” Evie debated. “You were a member of the Brotherhood once, Henry. Surely, you can understand our plight. We can’t allow the Templars to continue to grow in power.”

Jacob clapped his sister on the back and grinned. “Fighting words, Evie.” His expression then turned serious. “As I told my sister earlier, this is a case of gang politics. One party will dominate the other and have control over the people. At the moment, the Templars have that control. They have their spies who feed them information. They have enough people to make them a force to be reckoned with. Now in a fight, only one person emerges victorious, and the winner is seen as the strong one. The leader. That’s how gangs grow in power. People want to be on the winning side.”

“That might be true to an extent, but this is not a back alley brawl,” Henry retorted. “You can’t just expect to charge into this fight and expect to win. There is more at stake here – look at the bigger picture.”

“What I see is suffering,” Jacob rasped, fist resting on the table. “For years the working class have suffered at the hands of the Templars. They’re underpaid, they work until their bodies break and they live in shitholes where no one gives a damn. Even children are forced to work just so they can survive. Now you tell me – is this not worth fighting for or are you happy enough to sit back while the world around you burns to the ground?”

Henry looked to Evie, as if waiting for her to provide him with an answer. She shrugged. “What my brother is trying to say is that we are fighting for the greater good, Henry,” Evie intervened, before her brother could debate his point further. Bringing up the past would only add to the tension and she didn’t want that. If they were to succeed, both her brother and Henry would have to agree. “You’d be a welcome addition to the gang. The voice of reason. No one knows us better than you You don’t have to fight, but you can still help us succeed. ” It would also be nice talking to someone else trained in the ways of the Assassin who actually followed the three tenants as seriously as she did.

Henry drew in a deep breath then sighed. “All right. I’ll help, but don’t expect me to carry out any of the dirty work. I’m here to look after both of you, not take part in any fights. I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.”

“Great. Now that’s solved, we should worry about the next step – accommodation. We’ll need a new place to call home,” Jacob started. “Any ideas?”

“The Seven Bells has beds to spare,” Henry said. “In fact, this place used to be the headquarters of the British Assassins a decade ago before the Templars took control. We’d have to talk to the bartender and convince him we can be trusted and won’t bring in any trouble. There’s also a girl I think you should talk with.” He averted his gaze.

Evie turned her head and noticed he was glancing in the direction of the serving girl. The girl was still looking in their direction. “Do you know her?”

“Don’t let her innocent looks fool you into thinking she’s clueless – she’s a little rapscallion, but she’s knowledgeable about many things… including Templars,” Henry replied, pulling his gaze away from the girl. “Her name is Clara, and I think it would be worth talking with her to obtain some information on our enemies.”

Evie looked away, her brows knotted in confusion. “She’s a child.”

“A cunning child and a thief.” Jacob snorted.

Whatever activities the girl liked to get up to in her spare time was of no concern to Evie. Despite being knowledgeable about Templar activities, questioning a child about such things seemed strange. Not that it would be too difficult – her brother might be a few minutes younger than herself, but often it felt like she was several years older. Sometimes her brother had to be treated like a child to get him to do the right thing. Reward him for his efforts and scold him when he did wrong.

“We’ll order something. That’ll give us a few seconds to talk with her at least and see what she knows.”

“I’m going to find Clara,” Henry said, rising to his feet. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“And I’m going to get myself something to drink,” Jacob announced, rising from his chair. He moved towards the counter while Evie remained seated watching her brother. He traded words with the old man behind then pointed a finger towards Evie’s direction. A few moments later, he reached the table and sat opposite to her. “Why the sour face? We should be celebrating. Henry has given his approval.”

“Do you have to argue with him?”

Jacob shrugged. “He needs to loosen up a little and realize what we’re fighting for. Maybe that’s why the Brotherhood fell to the Templars – they didn’t fight back.”

Evie glowered. Most of the time she could tolerate his rants, complaints and tantrums, but sometimes he took it too far. “It wasn’t cowardice that led to their loss. They made a mistake – they underestimated the might of the Templar Order, and the Templars used that to their advantage.” Or so she assumed. No one knew what happened between the Assassins and the Templars. Templars never spoke of it, and the Assassins, all but Henry, had left.

“Maybe it was those three tenants that held them back. You know, the ones about hiding in plain sight, not compromising the Brotherhood and staying the blade from the innocents? If they truly believed in freedom then they wouldn’t bind themselves to such pointless beliefs. How are you going to win a war if you spent your time hiding?”

A challenge. He was testing her to see if she would break. He knew she obeyed the Creed, and he liked to use that against her, but she knew better than to allow herself to be angered by his words. This was Jacob in defensive mode. When he was cornered, he lashed out in the best way he could – insults, fist fights and irrational self-justifications.

Before Evie could offer an explanation, Henry returned with two black jugs of ale in both hands. He laid them down on the table then turned to Jacob. “I managed to find Clara.”

“And?”

“I didn’t have much time to speak her, but she’s agreed to give us some information about the City of London and its districts when she has her lunch break. I had to pay a few pounds, but it will be worth it.”

Jacob helped himself to a jug of ale, took a swig then put it back down. Evie didn’t even try to stop him – she didn’t drink. “Why not just ask the bartender?”

Henry supplied an answer. “A child has no reason to lie, but an adult does. She’s agreed to talk with Evie and I in an hour’s time before the bar starts its preparations for the night.”

“What about me?”

“I ran out of coin.”

He frowned. Clara was a smart girl to charge a price for each head. “While you two chat, I’m going to speak with some people. I’ll be back within the hour, I promise.”

“Speak with whom?”

He smirked. “You’ll find in an hour’s time, sister.” Jacob took another swig of his drink, placed the mug down then stood up.

“Try not to get into any trouble while we’re talking to Clara.”

“You don’t need to worry, Evie. I promised I would be on my best behaviour,” he replied with a wink. He finished the remainder of his drink then looked to the second jug of ale. “It would be a shame for it to go to waste…”

“I’m not having any,” Evie said.

Henry shook his head. “I don’t want it either.”

Jacob took the second mug. “Great. More for me then.”

Evie watched her brother drown down another mug of ale slightly concerned. Her brother already had a short fuse, but when combined with alcohol, trouble was basically unavoidable. At least he was in good spirits – that lowered the chances of a fight occurring, but what had he meant when he said ‘talking to some people’?

She looked around the room again – it seemed even more people had entered the bar. Not a single table was left unfilled. Women and men traded stories, talking in loud voices and laughing about the most random of things, as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Coming to the bar for a few hours was a chance to escape from the mundane lifestyle of work and provided a temporary relief to the stress of little pay.

“Those men… they keep looking at us…” she said in a hushed tone, eyes fixed on a pair of adult males in western corner. Both men were holding a mug of ale in a hand, eyes looking in their direction. One man wore a black top hat and a green coat, whilst the other wore a buttoned up white shirt. She noticed there were black markings on his face, though she couldn’t decipher what they meant from the distance. “Do you think they suspect?”

Both Jacob and Henry looked then turned away. “I’m not surprised. They’re probably drawn to Henry’s garbs,” Jacob answered, gesturing to Henry’s white robes. “Everyone else is wearing drab and dull colours here. No wonder people are looking. Don’t think anything of it – if they wanted trouble, it would’ve happened already.”

“We should meet up with Clara now. She’ll be waiting for us outside the back of the shop.”

Evie nodded, and rose from her chair. “We’ll be back shortly.”

“I’ll be off too then. See you soon. I’m sure we’ll have exciting stories to trade.”

.

The leader of the gang, a man with shoulder-length shaggy black hair with smudges of dirt on his face, moved forward, fists hanging down at his sides. His expression was hard, his gaze unflinching, as he continued to take confident strides towards him. Jacob remained in place, arms crossed, shoulders pinned back, waiting for the other male to make his move.

“You’ve come to the wrong part of town, lad,” the man said. He spat at the ground then wiped his mouth using the back of his right hand. “But please, feel free to stay. What do you think boys? This one looks like easy pickings.”

The four men behind him all nodded. “He can’t be too wise if he’s come to this part of town on his own,” one of the men said. His words were greeted with enthusiastic shouts as the gang members trade high-fives with each other.

Another man, one of the two men lacking a shirt, rubbed his hands together. “He looks like one of those rich pompous bastards from Westminster. Take him on now boss and then we loot what we can before the Templar assholes start their patrols.”

There were Templars in the area then, and by the sounds of it, the local gangs were afraid of them. That would make it a lot easier to convince them to join with him if they believed he could help. He waited for the men to cease their chatter before speaking. “One on one? That’s hardly a fair fight,” Jacob replied. “Let’s even up the playing field, shall we?”

The leader snorted. “You’re joking with us. I don’t take kindly to jokers.”

“Five on one... That is, if you think you can manage.” The other men started moving forwards, their grins now replaced with scowls.

 _Excellent,_ Jacob thought. _Now we’re making progress._ He still remained in place waiting for his opponents to move within striking distance. One on one fights were too easy – three was a warm up, but five was almost a challenge. These men didn’t look too tough and he suspected they would surrender pretty quickly once they were realized they were overpowered. All he had to do was prove his worth and he’d have power over them. He took his hat off and laid it down on the floor out of harm’s way.

“Come on boys. Let us teach this fool why he should’ve started running.” One by one the men attacked. The first man charged, and threw his weight against him, in an attempt to tackle him to the ground. Jacob stepped to the side, easily evading the blow, and sighed. That was disappointing. The second man let out a roar and charged. This time, Jacob allowed the man to knock him over, just to give the men false hope.

His back made contact with the ground. His attacker immediately climbed on top using his weight to pin him down. Fortunately, the man hadn’t pinned his arms down yet allowing him to take control of the battle. His attacker had placed both his hands just below his neck. Jacob covered his attacker’s hands with his right hand then raised his left hand, placing it on his opponent’s right tricep. He pulled him down with a hard tug.

Jacob raised his knees, and angled them to the left, trapping his opponent’s foot. He lifted his backside up from the ground then rolled to the side, swapping positions. Drawing his hand back, he curled his fingers into a fist then drove it forward, knuckles colliding with the jawbone. The man cried out in pain. Jacob rolled off him, climbed to his feet, and felt someone try to grab him. He brought his head forward then back, slamming his skull into his holder’s nose. Hands released him immediately.

One man was lying on the ground, whilst the other was clutching his nose, blood streaming down his arms. Three more remained. Earlier on, the men were keen to brawl, but now they looked hesitant, reluctant and afraid even. “Is that all you have? I was expecting more,” he taunted, unable to stop himself.

The leader took a cautious step back, opting to take on the defensive position rather than take the offense. The remaining gang members stood back, unsure what course of action to take next. They turned to their leader awaiting orders. No orders were given. Seems the leader was smart enough not to send any more of his men into battle.

Jacob sauntered forward. His rival moved forward and threw a punch. Taking a step forward, Jacob countered with his own punch, striking the man in the forearm. A satisfied yelp of pain left the leader’s throat as he staggered backwards, struggling to regain his composure. Jacob punched him again. He toppled over. “I won’t hold it against you if you want to surrender.”

“Fuck you,” the man spat, clutching his arm, as if fearing it would fall off if he didn’t. “This is my territory!”

He collected his hat, then walked over to the leader’s side and peered down. “You know as well as I do that’s not true. You mentioned it earlier about Templars patrolling the area. Something tells me you want to avoid them… You’re afraid of what could happen. I’m here to help you.”

“Help me?” A dry bitter laugh left his throat. “Why would you care about our plight? You’d be better off killing me. Save the Templars from doing it themselves.”

“If I wanted you dead, you would be.” He reached an arm out then added, “Stand up.”

There was a pause as the leader of the gang contemplated his next move. “...Are you keeping me alive to mock me?”

Jacob sighed. “I have no love for the Templars. To remove them from this city’s presence is my goal, but I can’t do that alone. The Templars have their spies – I need mine. You seem like a good candidate for the role… What’s your name?”

“Charles.”

“Come work for me, Charles, and I can promise you a better life. I can pay you good coin.”

Charles helped himself up to a sitting position, but still refused to take his hand. “I can help myself up.” With a grunt, Charles climbed to his feet, and dusted his clothes off. “Something tells me that I’m making a deal with the Devil here, but it seems we have a common enemy. We have a deal. My men and I submit ourselves to your cause.”

There was a still distrust in the man’s eyes – fear and uncertainty – but the man had been beaten. Continuing to fight now would only embarrass him further. There was still some work to be done to fully win over the man’s trust, but at least he had agreed to help. Jacob took his hand and shook it as a gesture of friendship. “What do you say for a drink at the Seven Bells? There’s someone there I’d like you to meet.”

“As long as you’re paying.”


	5. Trouble is Never Too Far Away

Jacob wasn’t the type of person who could sit still in one place for too long. He was a man of action, and sitting around waiting only made him more restless. Without realizing it, his fingers started drumming on the surface of the table. He wanted to be out there on the streets right now looking for more people to recruit to their noble cause, but he had to wait for Evie and Henry to return from their meeting. The Rooks were currently cleaning themselves up so he was here on his own and bored out of his mind.

He looked around the bar. Every table was filled. The locals had come here to forget about their miserable lives by drowning their sorrows with alcohol. Although it was only midday, some people already looked as if they had one too many drinks. Towards the eastern corner was a group of five men and two women. One of the females, a blonde with wispy long curls, was seated on a man’s lap, his arms laced around her waist. The man brought his face in towards her chest, and kissed the spot between her breasts, eliciting a satisfied high-pitched squeal from the blonde woman.

Jacob looked away, annoyed. Relationships were a big mystery to him – he never quite understood why someone would want to sacrifice their freedom to be with someone else. His sister often tried explaining it to him, claiming that the sacrifice of freedom opened the doors to other feelings and experiences, but he found it to be a waste of time.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried before – twice he had tried forming a relationship with a female, but both times had left him feeling quite empty inside. The first girl that caught his interest was a brunette who worked as a waitress at bar. He had been sixteen at the time and had just sworn his oaths to the Brotherhood, a year after his sister had. The waitress had invited him over to her place one night to spend some quality time together.

The time had been cut short thanks to the surprise arrival of her elder brother coming home. Words and insults had been exchanged, punches had been thrown, and a few minutes later, Jacob had knocked out the waitresses’ brother. Needless to say, she had not been impressed, and chased him out of the house, swearing she’d call the authorities should he ever talk to her again.

His second failure happened at the age of eighteen. By this point, his sister had claimed the title of Master Assassin shortly before their father’s ultimately death. Despite not having had the best relationship with his father, Jacob did mourn his loss, and took it much harder than Evie. He had spent many long hours at the tavern, taking out much of his inner frustrations on unfortunate drunks at the bar. It was then he met a woman called Clarice who claimed to know how he felt.

Again he had found himself in some bedroom with some woman he had only known for less than five hours. She wanted to talk about her feelings and take things slow, but that clashed with his ideas. He wanted action; she didn’t. She had thrown a pillow at him, called him a few names (jerk, asshole, bastard to name a few), and Jacob, being the type to never back down when threatened, retorted with a few insults of his own.

From that day on Jacob decided women were just a distraction, and he paid them little attention. He found a fist fight far more satisfying than sex; at least there was some sort of reward to be had in his experience. He drank the remaining contents of his drink then sighed, leaning back in his chair, eyes turning towards the clock. Only thirty minutes had passed since Evie and Henry had left. Recruiting Charles and the gang hadn’t taken as long as he had originally assumed. This was going to be a long thirty minutes.

“Could you please stop that?” a man said from the table behind.

Jacob turned around. A man with shaggy brown dark hair with a hooked nose glared at him. “What? This?” He continued drumming his fingers on the table to further agitate this man who apparently didn’t like it. The man’s scowl deepened. Jacob just smirked. Perhaps this wait wouldn’t be so painful after all.

“Yes. That.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Jacob replied.

“Then I’ll crush yer bloody hands,” the man snarled.

Jacob snorted. “Somehow I don’t think you’ll succeed.”

“And what makes you believe that?”

The man’s companion, a woman with sparkling blue eyes and short black hair, rolled her eyes. “Leave him alone, John. He’s obviously one of those of those poor fools from the slums. A disturbed lot they are.” She waved a hand in the air as if swatting away a pesky fly. “They’re like rabid dogs, I hear.”

John nodded. “Yes, this one does look a bit like a wild beast. I say the Seven Bells is just not what it used to be. They’re letting in all sorts of people through their doors.” He turned up his nose and gave a disgruntled snort. “Come let us leave this place, Belinda. We’ll return another day when there’s less filth around.” He rose from his chair then stretched a hand out to his companion. She took his hand, cast Jacob an annoyed look, and allowed her partner to guide her out of the room.

Oh no, he wasn’t having any of that. No one walked away from him, not until he had the last say in the argument. He looked for something to use as a weapon – yelling at the man wouldn’t do much. No, he had to make it look dramatic. His eyes landed on his now empty mug. Perfect. Wrapping his fingers around the handle, Jacob lifted it up then threw it at the man’s back.

He had a lot of practice at throwing his kukri at moving targets so hitting the man required little effort. As expected, his target turned around, his dark eyes burning like black fire. The mug crashed to the floor, shattering into hundreds of tiny pieces. That caught the attention of everyone else in the room. The bar fell silent. All eyes were fixed on the duo.

“You jerk!” the woman screamed. She glared at her partner, eyes blazing. “What are you doing, John! Don’t stand up for this nonsense! Teach this scoundrel a lesson!”

“Come on, John, defend your honour,” Jacob taunted, unable to stop himself. He stood up and moved away from the table, flexing his fingers, ready to teach this apparent upper-class snob a lesson. Thank goodness Evie was distracted or else she would’ve dragged him out of the bar by the ear.

John growled, curled his fingers into fists, and strode towards him. “You fucking prick!” With a grunt, he lunged forward.

 _Idiot,_ thought Jacob. No wonder the Templars had such a firm grip on the city. He stepped to the left, and the man stumbled forward, arms flailing. Jacob moved up behind him, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt then smashed his head into the side of the table. John slumped to the floor.

“John!” Belinda screamed. Rushing to her partner’s side, she dropped down and checked for a pulse. She held her hand against his neck then drew it back, turning her attention up at him. Her face scrunched up, and Jacob knew tears were soon to follow. It was the exact same face Clarice had used when she had thrown a pillow at his head. “You asshole!”

In the corner of his eye, he spotted the two guys watching them earlier on, rise from their chairs. The guy in the green coat looked easy enough to take on, but the guy on the right, the big bald man, looked to be a bit of challenge. That was fine by him. He liked challenges. Made the day so much more eventful and it tested his skills.

“Stop this nonsense at once!”

 _Just when things were about to get interesting,_ Jacob thought sourly. He turned to face the source of the voice and spotted the bartender strolling towards him, lips pressed into a thin line, his thick brows furrowed. But it wasn’t the bartender who worried him – he spotted someone far more terrifying. His sister.

“Fuck,” he mumbled.

.

“What do you want to know and why should I tell you anything?” Clara said.

They were standing in a small room out the back of the bar. There was single brown table in the centre of the room, placed upon a colourful red carpet. A painting of a battle against armed knights hung above the fire place, and below it, was the words, ‘Nothing is true. Everything is permitted’. Evie lifted a brow, but remained silent. They were the maxim of the Creed. Why would a bar have those words?

“Seven Bells is the most popular bar in London,” Henry started. “We’re new to this city, and we’d like to know more about it. We were told the Seven Bells was the number one place to come for information.”

Clara held a hand out. “Give me a pouch of gold ones and I’ll tell you what I know.” Henry dug a hand into his robes and one out. He looked a reluctant to hand it over, but he knew better than not to. Clara happily snatched it from his hands, hid it beneath her shirt then gestured at the table. “Take a seat.”

Henry walked over and pulled out a chair for Evie. She thanked him then took her seat, as Henry sat down in the char next to her. Clara sat on the opposite side, wrapping a finger around one of her pigtails. “What do you know of the Templars?”

“What are your names? I’m Clara.”

“Joseph.”

“Jennifer.”

Clara’s eyes moved back and forth between the pair. The corners of her mouth curved upwards into a knowing smirk. “Are you like together? As in, partners, lovers?”

“No,” Evie responded tonelessly.

The girl frowned, as if she was disappointed. “Templars come and go. Sometimes they come here to get drunk like everyone else. Some days they come here to ask questions. It’s always new faces too. Never see the same Templar twice,” she explained. “I listen to them. Sometimes I get close and pickpocket. They’re part of a gang called the Blighters.”

“The Blighters?” Evie repeated.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Can you tell us more about them?”

Clara shrugged. “Only if you tell me what your real names are.” Henry and Evie remained silent. The girl sighed. “Oh come on, I know you’re not just common citizens.” She cast a glance in Henry’s direction, eyes focused on his robes.

“What do you think we are?” Henry said.

“Assassins, of course!” Clara exclaimed. “Common people here don’t dress up like that, and believe me, I’ve seen a lot of poor fashion choices.” Her face brightened. “It’s the only reason I agreed to talk to you both. Your people are the only ones that would understand our plight here. So… can I see it?”

“See what?” Evie remarked.

“The really cool hidden blade, duh! Don’t you people like have knives under your sleeves?”

Evie was beginning to think this was a bad idea. The girl might’ve had a lot of information, but she had a very excitable personality, and seemed more interested in their equipment than the actual situation at hand. “I’m Evie, and this is my friend, Henry. You mentioned the plight here. Can you tell us more about these Blighters?”

“Can you show me your hidden blade?” Evie laid out a hand on the table then pulled the sleeve on her left arm back, revealing her gauntlet. Clara leaned over the table, gawking at the item, as if she was looking down at a large pot of pounds. She reached out a hand and trailed a finger down it. “How does it work? Is there a trigger?”

“Yes,” Henry offered. “Curl your middle finger towards the centre of your palm and you’ll find the trigger switch.

Evie did exactly as Henry described, and the silver blade thrust forward. Clara jumped back, startled. “Wow, that’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to meet Assassins before! I’ve read all the history books! Altair, Ezio, Connor… they’re so dramatic! I really didn’t like that Haytham and Shay though – I mean, they became Templars. Why would you do that?”

“As interesting as it is to reflect on history, would you mind telling us more about these Blighters?” Henry said. “We can’t help you if we don’t know what we’re up against.”

“Oh, of course! Well, you see, there’s this woman called Bloody Nora. She controls the Blighters. There’s seven gangs in each of the districts in London. I currently only know the names of one of her lackeys… don’t know the other five yet.”

Bloody Nora. Her brother had mentioned the name earlier in the day and was planning on meeting her here tonight. Perhaps this could be a chance to better learn more about the enemy… that is, if her brother didn’t reveal his true intentions. If he was convincing enough, Bloody Nora would recruit him and then he’d be shown the location of the heart of the Templar Order here in London, making the mission of wiping them out that much easier.

“Have you seen her?” Evie said.

“Oh, she comes here at least once a week,” Clara said. “A real piece of work. Got quite the stomach on her too. She can drown more mugs of ale than my father and he won the Championship last year.”

Evie rubbed her chin. “She recruits people here, doesn’t she? No one would suspect a thing.” Offer employment to poor desperate people, promise them lots of wealth and protection, and use them as her eyes and ears. It made her wonder just how many allies the Templars had. Anyone in this bar right now could be a spy.

“How do you plan to take them down? I mean, I know Assassins are powerful, but you’re facing an army. The Blighters are thugs – they’re a street gang after all. You won’t manage to get very far in your mission if you don’t know the game.”

For the first time during the conversation, Evie smiled. “I need to introduce you to my twin brother.”

“Twin Assassins? Never heard of that before.”

Henry leaned forward. “You mentioned you knew one of the names of Bloody Nora’s lackeys… What was it?”

“Robert Strain. Uptight fellow. Likes to show off his Templar allegiances as clear as day on his clothing,” she said. “You’ll know him straight away. He likes to walk with a swagger in his stride. Holds his nose up high and pins his shoulder blades back.” She looked to the right then groaned. “I want to talk to you both more, but we’re going to have to end it here. We close the bar for an hour to prepare it for the night… That’s when it gets real exciting.”

“What do you mean?” Evie said.

Clara grinned. “You want to see what happens during a drinking contest? Drop by tonight at seven. Hey, wait, I’ve got a better idea – you can both sleep here! My father will be overjoyed. I mean, actual Assassins here in London in our bar. You can like protect us from danger.”

The girl certainly liked to talk a lot. Just listening to her talk was enough to make her feel tired despite not having actually done anything physically demanding. “That’ll be great, thank you,” Evie said. “I’ll just find my brother and-” Her words were interrupted by a loud noise which sounded much like glass hitting the floor. Either it was caused by a drunk or her brother had something to do with it. She was leaning towards the latter.

“Evie.”

“I know, Henry.”

Henry didn’t say anything else. If her brother had found himself in trouble, then she was going to be the only person who could stop it. It was just fortunate her brother was only in the room next door and not on the other side of town. As she walked through the doors leading back to the main dining area, she heard a man shout.

“Stop this nonsense at once!”

.


	6. Clash of Egos

Needless to say, this was the most exciting thing to happen at Seven Bells in a long time. Most days it was just catching up with friends and drinking yourself until you were passed out on the floor, but an actual fight? Abraham moved away from his table, holding a mug of ale in his left hand, and wandered over towards the newcomer.

“What are you doing?” his friend asked. Abraham gave him the nickname ‘Tiny’ though he was anything but small. He was at least a good foot taller than everyone in the room, standing at a height just over six foot with shoulders so broad it made everyone else present look small. The man didn’t speak much – he preferred to talk with his fists, but when he did decide to use his mouth, his sentences were brief and direct.

“Let’s get a closer look at this new friend of ours,” Abraham replied, tilting his head towards the young adult male wearing the black trench coat. He was currently standing in the centre of the room, standing just a few inches away from the shattered glass on the wooden floorboards. “Seems like someone we could use.”

“You’re not thinking of recruiting him, are you?”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Why not? We could use a lad like him.”

Tiny grunted, shooting him a disproving look. “I thought I was your right-hand man.”

“You are… but I need a left-hand man too. Someone who won’t hesitate to get the job done correctly. Someone who isn’t afraid to get their hands dirty and I believe this is our guy.” He pulled his gaze away from Tiny, turning his attention back towards the newcomer. The crowd was silent. Everyone was so shocked by what was occurring that no one dared to speak.

The bartender, Paul, wasn’t impressed. “There will be no fighting in my bar! Leave at once or I’ll drag you out myself!” the man threatened.

Their potential ally remained in place, giving Paul a defiant look that could be interpreted as ‘try me’. Abraham was surprised Paul hadn’t hired any guards to protect the place from troublemakers, but he supposed he hadn’t found anyone that fit the mould yet. Troublemakers were rare however – often the worst was simply drunks getting a little too loud. Many of the drunkards fell asleep on the spot; they could only take a couple of steps before falling flat on their faces so fights were a rarity.

Paul took several steps towards the troublemaker then attempted to grab his arm to lead him out of the bar. Their hopeful ally didn’t take kindly to being touched, and retaliated, driving a fist into the man’s stomach. Paul staggered backwards, hands clutching his injured spot. The simple action caused the entire bar to break out into an uproar.

Fights broke out. It was as if seeing the bartender attacked triggered something animalistic in everyone else. A few mugs sailed through the air, some plates made contact with the walls, and even food was flung. Intoxicated women started throwing verbal insults at other women, and a few of them even engaged in a physical fight.

The man who had caused the fight stood on the sidelines watching the chaos around him before making an exit. Abraham tried to follow him, but the lost the man in the excitable drunken crowd. “Tiny!” he called out, summoning his burly companion. Glancing over his shoulder, he searched for the man, and found him holding back one guy from fighting another. He waved him over. “I need you over here now!”

Tiny released the young adult male and pushed his way through the squabbling crowd. “What now? We lost him.”

It was like he just disappeared. One moment he was there, and the next moment he was gone. It was amazing how he had even been able to escape considering how much movement there was happening. Everywhere you turned, there were at least two other people there. “Dammit,” he murmured. So much for the chance of approaching the guy, but at least he knew what to look out for.

Abraham ducked just in time to evade a glass thrown at his head. It sailed past and made contact with another man’s back. He turned around, laid his eyes on Abraham and charged. Abraham ducked, allowing Tiny to throw a punch. Knuckles met with a nose and seconds later, a body dropped to the floor. “The place is out of control. We should leave,” Tiny said.

For once, Abraham didn’t disagree. Nobody here would be able to stop the fighting. Eventually, someone would escape and alert the Templars, and the bar would be forced to shut down for a couple of hours whilst the place was cleaned. It could even take a few days for it to be re-opened considering how out of control the situation had become. People were holding bleeding hands to their chests, whilst others now had black bruises under their eyes. He would’ve been laughing if he wasn’t caught right in the middle of it.

Abraham gave Tiny the nod. “Let’s move.” Standing behind Tiny, Abraham remained close as the taller man cleared a path towards the exit, pushing countless people out of his way. Some people tried to pick a fight, but one glare from Tiny was enough to stop a man dead in his tracks. What only took a few minutes felt like hours, but eventually they reached the exit.

Stepping outside into the cool air was a pleasant change from the smells of alcohol and the sounds of merry laughter and drunken roars. It wouldn’t be long before the Templars were alerted of the noise, and he certainly didn’t want to be hanging around when they came. Templars could be a particularly nasty group of people when they were bothered.

“Where do you think he went?” Tiny said, searching left and right. “Perhaps he caught a carriage.”

Surely, he can’t have left the district already? The man had only left a few minutes ago. “Carriages arrive by the hour. There won’t be any here until another thirty minutes,” Abraham answered, moving a hand to his neck, giving it a rub.

“Maybe he climbed the roof,” Tiny said.

Abraham rolled his eyes. Climbed a roof? Yeah, right. “Come on, let’s keep looking.”

.

Jacob exited the bar whilst the crowd was distracted. Punching the bartender hadn’t been planned, but it had worked in his favour, at least for now. The locals would be far too busy fighting with each other to even bother coming after him. However, not all his problems had been solved. There was still the matter of his sister to deal with.

“That was uncalled for,” she said.

They were both standing on a rooftop belonging to a building just a block away from the tavern itself. There weren’t any carriages around to use so his only option was to go up to escape. “Did you follow me just to give me a lecture?” Jacob retorted, turning around to glower at Evie. Her arms were crossed over her chest. She was giving him the usual, ‘I’m very disappointed in you’ look. He hated that look.

“One hour, Jacob. _One_ hour.”

She always referred to him by his name when she was displeased. His father often did the same as well when he was disappointed. He’d take a seat across from his son, look deep into his eyes, and say, ‘I’m very disappointed in you, Jacob.’ And that was all he needed to say for the hurt to cut deeper than any knife could. He could never come up with a response to counter those words, and that just left him feeling even more irritated and prone to outbursts of rage.

“Don’t give me that look.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He pointed a finger at her. “ _That_ look. That same look of disappointment father had perfected.”

Evie glanced upwards at the sky, as if expecting an answer, then turned to face him again. “I have to watch over you, brother.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped, temper rising.

She came forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, and said, “We’re family. We’re all that we have left. I made a promise to myself that I would always watch over you.”

Jerking his shoulder back, he forced a dry bitter laugh and replied, “What? Because you don’t trust me? Is this what this is about? You don’t have enough faith in me to do the right thing? Is that why you insist on treating me like a child?” He wanted to throw something, but there was nothing around to use that he could break. All he could do was stand here and fume. 

“I’m not treating y-”

Defensive, he retaliated. “You’re always constantly on my case, lecturing me, scolding me for doing things that go against your precious fucking code,” he hissed. “I had that fight under control! If you hadn’t of shown up when you did, then I-”

“Calm yourself, brother. This is no time for us to be arguing,” Evie replied, as calmly as ever, stopping him mid-sentence. He didn’t know how she did that – he could complain, shout, rage and scream for hours and she would never raise her voice to match his. It was like she never felt anger. Either that or she was just so accustomed to his tantrums, she knew better than to fight fire with fire. “Clara has some information that might interest you. The Templars we seek? They’re called the Blighters, and they’re led by Bloody Nora.”

Right. Bloody Nora. Leader of the Templars. Speaking of the Templars there’d probably be a swarm of them coming down to the bar to do a sweep. Fuck. Perhaps starting that fight hadn’t been such a great idea after all. Of course, he could ask Evie to talk with the bartender and convince him that he could be trusted. Evie could be very persuasive when it came to cleaning up his messes. “You think Bloody Nora will come,” he replied slowly, anger diminishing.

“If she does, I doubt she’d come alone. Your antics would’ve attracted the local Templars to the bar, and I’m sure they’ll want to close the place down for a couple of days whilst they investigate. The police might even involve themselves.” She brought a hand to her chin and stroked it, most likely conjuring up another plan of attack in her head. “Templars are probably on their way as we speak. You’ll need to stay low until the fuss dies down.”

“I can handle a couple of Templars.”

“In broad daylight? Do you plan to murder a group of Templars right here in the open streets?”

He hated to admit it, but Evie raised a fair point. They’d have to wait until nightfall when it was much easier to blend in with the darkness of the night and escape. “Then we’ll wait until its dark before we attack. Could be a chance for our new recruits to get their hands dirty too.”

“New recruits? Do I even want to know? Perhaps not.” She paused then sighed. “No. It’s much too soon to use your friends. I haven’t even met them yet – besides, how do you know they won’t turn their back on you?”

Another good point. Evie was always naturally gifted in picking out the flaws in his suggestions. “I can’t promise they won’t, but once they’ve had their first taste of victory, they’ll be less likely to flee. That’s why I suggest bringing them along tonight. Practice run. They could stand guard outside, and I’ll deal with the rest.”

“You’ll deal with the rest,” she repeated.

“We need to take that bar back from Templar control. The people in it, like that Clara girl? They’re important to our cause. That bar is our new home. If what you say is true, then the Templars will have control of that place… I intend to take it back tonight, with or without you. What’s it going to be, Evie?”

“We need to plan ahead. Going in there without some sort of plan will be foolish and will lead to mistakes.”

A muscle jerked in his jaw. “And you don’t think I have plan,” he growled, patience beginning to wear thin.

“If we’re going to take this city, it’s going to be by my blade.”

His mouth twisted wryly. “You’re forgetting who runs this operation.”

“Correction, _you’ve_ forgotten. The people will see you as the leader, but _I_ control how this works.”

If Evie had been anyone else but his sister, he would’ve thrown a punch. That normally was enough to show who was boss, but not in these circumstances. It was no surprise Evie had risen to the ranks of a Master Assassin so quickly. She had the skill, the intelligence, and she could be quite assertive when needed. Just like father. He grumbled. “What do we do about Bloody Nora? I think she’ll be smart enough to realize not to come tonight. She’ll send her lackeys to do it for her.”

Evie nodded. “You may be right, but a war isn’t won in a day. We’ll deal with her after we’ve regained control of the bar.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Talk to Henry. He’ll fill you in with the details of Clara. Head to the left, then take the second street to your right. He’ll be waiting for you by medicine shop.” She started walking away and stopped at the ledge of the building, then glanced over her shoulder to look at him. “And I mean what I said – we’re taking this city by my blade.” Before he could get in another word, she climbed down the building, leaving him alone to ponder his next step.

.

Evie’s only flaw was that she was far too forgiving. Although she never failed to express her disappointment in his methods, she would always forgive him, no matter how vile the deed. As she had said earlier, they were family, and all they had left was each other. He used that to his advantage. There was no way he was going to sit here and listen to Henry talk while his sister was getting all the action.

His plan? Take out the Templars himself before his sister had a chance. Besides, he felt it was his responsibility this time since he was the one who started the problems at the bar in the first place. He supposed Evie worried that he would make a mess of things again. Other people would find the concern flattering, but he found it more of an annoyance. She forgave, but did not trust him fully.

He climbed down the side of the building and made his way towards the main street. His latest recruits would be arriving soon, and he’d need to give them a brief crash course on how things would be from now on. Fortunately, they were the punctual type. He found his men standing on the corner of the street, just a couple of metres away from the bar’s entrance.

“Where have you lads been hiding? Well, doesn’t matter, you’re here now anyway,” Jacob commented. “I’ve got good news for you – tonight you’re going to get paid. You are going to take what’s rightfully yours,” he added, referring to the coins in the pouches of the Templars.

All but Charles exchanged excited looks. “What’s the catch?” Charles said. “You get the biggest pay cut?”

Jacob raised a brow. “No, course not. You’ll get first pickings – I’ll take what is left.”

Charles’s expression softened, relieved. “My men also want to know… Do we have a name for our… gang?”

“Yes, the Rooks.”

Charles coked his head to the side and nodded. “The Rooks… Fitting name. I like it. So, what’s the plan, boss?”

Jacob gestured towards the Seven Bells down the street. “Templars are taking over the bar. We’re taking it back tonight. You five will wait outside in hiding – I’ll let you know when it’s your turn to get in on the action, all right? We have to take this carefully. We can’t afford to make any mistakes.” He’d prove to his sister that he could get the job done without any problems. Maybe then she’d learn to trust him enough that she wouldn’t have to watch over his every move.

“Oh, I thought you should know we found a couple of guys watching you during the fight. We saw them a short time ago,” Charles said. “I know their faces and I think you should be cautious.”

“I have nothing to fear.”

Charles bit his lower lip, and brought his palms together, then brought the tips of fingers to his chin. “They were charged with murder, boss. Abraham and Joseph, but I hear they call him ‘Tiny’. They joined a gang then killed a leader and took control themselves. They were released from jail a few months ago, and I don’t think you should trust them. What if they want to join us?”

Jacob studied Charles’s face. Fear. Concern. He wondered if Charles and his men had crossed paths with this troublesome duo, and that led to their fear. He closed the gap between himself and Charles then placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and looked straight into his eyes. “If we cross paths with them, I’ll let them join. I understand your concern, but no one gets the jump on me. I’ll make good men out of these lads. What makes you think I can’t do the same with them?” He pulled his hand back. “Now come on, let’s find ourselves a place to drink.”


	7. Take the Fight to the Enemy

Blood streamed down his face, spilling down onto his clothes and his hands, as he limped towards the carriage waiting zone. Belinda was at his side, providing him with much needed support, fretting over his injuries. “There is a blood everywhere! People are looking! It’s like you were in a fight!” she said.

John glared at her. “I was in a fight, yer bloody woman!” Well, it was more of a one-sided match. No wonder his opponent looked so smug about it – he knew it was over before it had already begun. Obviously, he was trained in battle. He was probably one of those alley way rats that beat up people for a few pounds. He certainly hit with a lot of force.

Bringing his left hand to his nose, he caressed the tip, the flesh all numb and tender. Surprisingly, his nose wasn’t broken, but he’d certainly be feeling it for a couple of days at the most. He was fortunate enough the bridge hadn’t hit the edge of the table otherwise his nose probably would’ve broken.

People continued to look. Some of them even screamed and ran. No one tried to help him. They were probably worried he was still being targeted… or that he was some drunk who had stumbled out of the tavern. He spat at the ground. People were vile. Many of them deserved to suffer. It was for that reason he had joined forces with the Blighters, feeding them information he gathered from the Seven Bells in exchange for coin.

Bloody Nora was a cruel woman. He was pretty sure her heart was made of ice because it never seemed to thaw – kind words never left her mouth. It was all about power and control when it came to Bloody Nora and the Blighters. So far she had been doing an excellent job – more than three quarters of the city was under her influence. She had the transport system under her control, the local authorities heeded her every word, and many of the business owners followed her law. The next logical step would be to take control of the government and the Queen herself.

There were small groups of people that opposed the Blighters. Small gangs of men and women prowled the streets at night, looking for methods to take advantage of Templars. However, the gangs were disorganized and often failed to succeed in any of their plans, but they still continued to try. He snorted. It would take a great and skilled leader to challenge the authority of the Templar Order. Fortunately, the British Brotherhood was no longer a functioning order meaning the Templars had nothing to be worried about.

A carriage passed by. John stuck out his arm and called the driver over. “Over here!” John called.

The carriage pulled over to the side. He recognized the man as Mercutio, a fellow Templar supporter. “Climb on board,” he said. John clambered onto the seat. Belinda climbed in after. “What happened to you?”

John snorted, pinching his nose again. He leaned forward slightly, hoping that would lessen the blood flow. “Some guy at the bar… Must be new to these parts because I ain’t ever seen him around before.” He spat at the space between his black shoes. Great. There was blood on them as well.

Mercutio grimaced. “No spitting in my carriage.” He drew back a hand and dug it into a pocket, pulling out a white handkerchief and gave it to him. “If you need to spit, please use that. It costs a lot to make this carriage look clean. Now do go on. What did he look like?”

John shrugged. “Black coat. Top hat.”

“Anything else? Surely, you must remember something?”

His mind drew a blank. “The last thing I remember was having my face smashed into the side of a table. Forgive me if I can’t remember much detail.”

“I remember,” Belinda said. “He’s a rogue beast who hurt my precious husband! Definitely young. Early twenties. Typical arrogance of a man at that age. Sideburns, devilish smirk. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the killer responsible for the deaths of those poor young men.” She then paused, and added in a gentler tone, “There was also something. Something about the left sleeve. Golden glove, I thought.”

“Assassin probably… Or pretending to be one,” John murmured.

“He can’t be one. I thought they liked to hide?” Belinda replied.

“Well, maybe they’ve gone rogue,” John answered. “The British Brotherhood is dead and buried. Doesn’t mean there aren’t any more British Assassins about. Maybe he’s some vigilante? Come here to London to remove Templars.”

“An Assassin?” A thoughtful expression crossed Mercutio’s face. “That was the same male I saw earlier in the week. I saw him a second time with a woman. Called themselves Jennifer and George. Now that I think about it, she had the same golden glove as well. You think they’d be trying to blend in better with the crowd and not having that so visible to the public.”

“How many people even know about the Assassins?” John countered. “You probably didn’t even know he was one yourself. Probably just thought he was odd. I wonder how many of them are here in London. Funny you mention a woman – I caught a glimpse of a woman with an Indian at the bar earlier. Maybe they’re all in it together.”

Mercutio looked worried. “Three Assassins? One is bad enough, but three? Bloody Nora is supposed to be meeting with the male tonight. It could be a trap.”

“She’s smart. I’m sure she’ll have her own scheme to outsmart the Assassin,” John said. “This Assassin here… I wouldn’t call him stupid, but he doesn’t seem too worried about keeping himself hidden like Assassins are rumoured to. Had a go at the bar owner as well before I hobbled out. I don’t think Bloody Nora has to worry about being ambushed.”

“We should still inform her. If the other two are Assassins as well, they could be hiding in the shadows, waiting to strike. Perhaps George is just a distraction from the real threat.”

John didn’t have a response to that. Mercutio could be right, but he hadn’t seen the woman and the Indian male return, so he assumed they had left the area. Maybe they had other places to be. Hopefully. They continued riding in silence, passing by crowds of people, before making a right turn into an alleyway. This was the quickest route to Lambeth reserved only for transporting Templar allies around. Those not affiliated with the Order were taken down the long route and charged more. “Are you sure his name is George?”

“The woman said so.”

“And you believe that?” No response. Mercutio was a little naive at times, but he had his uses. He did think the man was a liability – Mercutio would probably sell the secrets of the Blighters if interrogated and offered a better price. “That’s one thing we have to find out. What his real name is.”

They reached one of the entrances to Nora’s base. Mercutio parked the carriage and all three climbed off. Normally, there’d be a few Templars around, but John suspected they were on their way to the bar now to temporary shut down operations while they investigated. There were only a few Templars in sight – a group of males dressed to look like commoners, and Bloody Nora herself. She was waiting for them in the courtyard.

“It’s a bit early to pay your debts, Mercutio,” she said. Her dark eyes turned to face him. “Ah, John. What a delight to see you. I wasn’t expecting you so soon… I trust you have news for me?” She jerked her head at the Templar knights. “Clean him up. I can’t have him walking around like that.” The Templars nodded and moved towards him.

He was offered another handkerchief which he gladly accepted. The blood had stopped flowing for now at least. Spitting down on the cloth, he used it to wipe the blood off his face. He nodded. “It was an Assassin at the Seven Bells. He attacked me.”

She stood before him. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. He wore a golden glove unlike anything I’ve ever seen sold here in the shops.”

“What are we going to do now, Nora?” a Templar asked. “Assassins don’t like Templars. We could be walking right into a trap.”

Nora tilted her head to the side. John could already see a plan forming in her mind. “If this Assassin willingly attacks a civilian in a public place without little care then I highly doubt he’s setting up a trap. I want you boys to go there tonight as planned. We’ll see what he has to offer. Get an idea of what he’s like so we can better learn to defend ourselves against him. Don’t kill him – a dead Assassin is no use to me.”

“Are you going to come?”

She shook her head. “I need to meet with the other leaders and inform them of what is going on. If the Assassins have come to London hoping to restore their Brotherhood here, then they’ve come to the wrong place of Britain. It will take some time, but the Assassins will be defeated. I want it to be a humiliating defeat.”

“Of course. We will leave at once.”

“And don’t come back until you have something worthy to report.”

The Templar nodded, motioned for a few men to follow him, and departed the scene.

“Now, you three have a job to do.”

.

Jacob soon realized the boys needed some weapons if they were to have any hope of dispatching Templars in close combat. They might have lived on the streets, but they hadn’t the same level of experience as he did nor did they share the same skill set. He led them towards a merchant shop hoping to find a place which sold suitable weapons.

Stepping through the entrance, he was greeted to the smell of cheap liquor and tobacco. There a lone man sitting behind a counter, his feet resting on the surface, books and papers scattered all over the place. The man glanced up from his newspaper, pulled the pipe away from his mouth, took one good look then turned back to the paper.

“I’m looking for more some information. Perhaps you can help,” Jacob started. The man ignored him. If there was one thing Jacob disliked more than Templars, it was being ignored. He brought a fist down onto the table. That grabbed the man’s attention. He jumped in his seat, dropping the paper onto the ground. He immediately dove to the floor then climbed to his feet, holding a revolver in both hands. Ah, so the man was armed. Not really surprising since there was a ‘murderer’ on the streets.

“Don’t make me pull the trigger!” the man warned.

Jacob rolled his eyes. “I need information. I’ll pay you.”

The man lowered the gun slightly. “How much?”

“Depends on the value of your information.”

“What do you want to know?”

“You’ve heard about the Seven Bells right? Building is shut down until further notice. Know anywhere else we can get a few drinks?”

The man nodded. “The Thistle’s Crown.”

“Where’s that?”

“Just down to your right at the very end of the street. It sits on the corner. Hard to miss. Got two trees in front of it and a lamp post. You won’t be allowed there though – only special people are allowed to go there. Need a Red Cross or something. It’s a gang hideout.”

A Templar meeting place then. So the Templars had their own bar to call home. Fortunately, it wasn’t too far away from the Seven Bells. This was a chance to recruit a few extra people to their cause. He’d have enough time to clear out both places. Besides, he had promised earlier he was going to treat his new friends to some drinks.

Jacob handed the man a few pounds. “For the information. Don’t spend it all at once.” Before the man could speak, Jacob walked out of the building, his men following behind him. “What do you boys say to a free drink down at the Thistle’s Crown?” After all, he had promised them one earlier on. The boys exchanged excited glances – not one of them complained. “Sounds fine,” Charles said.

Not that Jacob had been expecting them to complain. “We’ll head on down to the Seven Bells as soon as night falls. Less likely to draw attention that way.” He started leading the way to the Thistle’s Crown then realized his new allies had stopped. “What are you lads waiting for? Don’t tell me you’re waiting for a carriage.”

“You’re heading the wrong way, boss,” a Rook said. “It’s the other way.”

Right. Of course. “I was just testing you. Good to know you were listening to the directions.”

.

Evie climbed to the highest level of the tallest building in sight – a three storey building about three blocks away from the Seven Bells tavern. Arms stretched out to both sides, she crept forward down onto a ledge. From here, she could see her surroundings much better. She could see the crowds of people walking along the streets, all consumed by thoughts of their own daily troubles. She could see carriages arriving and leaving on the main street. She could even see her brother in the distance accompanied by a group of five men.

She suspected they were the recruits Jacob had been talking about. Where were they heading? They certainly weren’t heading towards the place Henry was. In fact, they were going in the exact opposite direction. They appeared to be heading towards a shop. Perhaps Jacob was purchasing the men medical supplies to patch up whatever wounds the boys had sustained. They disappeared through the doors. Evie tightened her jaw. Hopefully, that wasn’t a weapons shop.

“Don’t give me a reason not to trust you,” she said softly, then turned her attention from the building, gazing back down at the streets. That’s when she spotted them. Templars. There was no doubt about it. She didn’t even need to focus to know they were clearly the enemy. She counted five. No sign of a woman though. Perhaps Bloody Nora wasn’t coming tonight.

She watched the Templars move inside the building. Hopefully, Clara and her father would be unharmed. But where was her brother? Last she saw he had gone inside that building. She was torn. Find her brother and save the bar another day or leave her brother and take down the Templars herself. She turned to the Seven Bells again.

“Dammit,” she murmured. The bar would have to wait. No matter what, her brother always came first. If he wasn’t with Henry then where was he, and what was he planning? He can’t have gotten too far – surely, he’d still be somewhere in the city? She averted her gaze and muttered a curse. Her baby brother was going to be the death of her.

.

The Thistle’s Crown was a much smaller place then the Seven Bells. It was also home to less people since it was located further out from the city central. People just didn’t want to walk this far to get a beer. Which was understandable. The prices were ridiculous! “-this is fucking expensive!” Jacob complained. “Ten pounds for one drink?”

Charles shrugged. “Glad I’m not the one paying.”

So, that’s why they hadn’t complained. Crafty sneaky Rooks. Free expensive drinks. Jacob paid the money and stormed back over to the table in the far eastern corner. Fifty pounds poorer today thanks to the over-charging owners of this dump. The worst part? It wasn’t even high quality ale! He felt like he had been robbed.

The tavern itself was a bland environment, lacking the joyful atmosphere the Seven Bells had. There were lights, but they were dim, giving the place a rather sombre feel. The windows were open, allowing cool air to fill the room, further adding to the hostile environment. There was no fireplace in this tavern nor any photo frames hanging on the walls. No wonder it was a base for Templars – they certainly weren’t going to win over commoners with a bar set up like this.

“So, uh, you never told us your name,” a Rook said. He was the one who had tackled Jacob to the ground during the alley way fight earlier in the week.

“It’s Jacob Frye, but its boss to you lot.”

“Oh, okay then, boss.”

The boys tapped their mugs together and all took a sip at the same time. While the lads started up a ‘who-could-drown-their-ale-faster’, Jacob was more preoccupied with checking out the local people of the building. There were only two people working – a man and a woman, whom he suspected was the man’s wife. He served the drinks and she carried them out.

Currently, there were only eight other people present, seated together on the opposite side of the room. He watched them intently, studying them. They appeared to be in high spirits about something… either that or they were drunk. One of them pointed at their table. All were dressed in simple brown coats and grey or black pants, and each man wore a black hat. He closed his eyes and focused on the sounds of their voices. He found it easier to concentrate when his eyes were closed as he didn’t get distracted by all the colours.

A man with a hooked nose spoke first. “…Strain is supposed to be visiting in a couple of days. I hear he’s been working on something.”

“Strain? That tosspot? Can’t say I look forward to seeing him again,” said a man with a beard.

“Well, it must be something important if he’s coming this early.”

“Fuck Strain! He’s not our leader. He’s just one of Nora’s lackeys. On that note, fuck Nora too. She doesn’t pay us enough.” His words were greeted by laughter from some of the other men. “I’ve been working my ass off overtime for the past couple of weeks, and I still haven’t been paid the right amount. A man has got to drink.” Again, there was laughter.

“You wouldn’t say that to her face. You better be glad she’s preoccupied with other business, or she’d shoot you dead, Thomas.”

The man called Thomas threw his head back and laughed. “You are too serious, boy. No wonder you’re still carrying out the grunt work.” He patted his friend on the back. “Say, why don’t you prove yourself a man and take on those lads over there? Not often we have visitors.”

Jacob opened his eyes again having heard enough. They were Templars, that much was obvious, and it seemed like a few of them didn’t appreciate their leaders. That was enough for him to think they could join the Rooks after some convincing. Though he despised the cost of the ale and its foul taste, he made a mental note to return at a later date. He would’ve worked on convincing them tonight, but he had plans elsewhere.

“We need to leave,” Jacob ordered.

His Rooks looked a little disappointed, but they rose from their seats and followed him towards the exit. Jacob managed to cover a few metres when Thomas called them out. “Where are you boys going? Can’t leave without introducing yourselves!”

“What do we do, boss?” a Rook asked nervously.

Eight men. He could take them on with ease, especially since they’d be a little more sluggish due to the alcohol in their system, but he had another fight to attend do. “Keep walking. Wait around the corner of the Seven Bells. I’ll meet you there.” The Rooks left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have read this story before, thanks for re-reading it again.
> 
> If you are new to this story, I hope you enjoy the ride!


	8. Don't Get In My Way

Jacob stared at them. The group of eight stared back at him. No one moved; no one dared to even flinch. Each leader waited for the other to move. One could drop a pin and still not a soul would move an inch. He flexed his fingers, ready to take action should any be required, but fortunately the men didn’t seem interested in fighting. For now anyway. They appeared to more interested in trading whispers with each other. He spotted two Templars exchanging whispers.

“…Who does this jackass thing he is?” one Templar said. Jacob suppressed a growl, his patience already beginning to wear thin, and he had only been here for less than an hour. Truly this was a record. He turned away from the Templar and faced the one called Thomas, the self-appointed leader of this motley crew.

Thomas walked to his side, reaching out a hand to touch his pale brown coat. Jacob clenched his jaw, took in a deep breath, and avoided making eye contact with the man. He knew if their eyes locked, there’d be trouble. “Strange clothes you have on. You mustn’t be from around these parts,” Thomas commented.

Jacob grunted in response.

“What was that? Did you say something?” Thomas said, pulling his hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” Jacob snarled. Already, he could feel his insides starting to burn, the adrenaline beginning to rise. It would be so easy to grab this man in a headlock, beat him around the head then finish him off with a stab to the stomach… But he had other places to be. Maybe he’d come back another day and finish off the job.

“Look at this lads; this one has spark in him!” Thomas jeered. His words were met with joyous laughter. “You’ve come to the wrong place, lad. This isn’t the place for fancy townsfolk such as yourself. So why don’t you run along now and go play someplace else?”

He was already in a foul mood thanks to the cheap liquor and having to listen to this jerk make lousy threats only further added to his irritation. One punch… That’s all it would take… The man pushed him towards the exit. Lousy threats he could just tolerate – but being forcibly pushed? Jacob turned around then lunged forward, grabbing the man’s collar with both hands. He pushed him back until the man came into contact with the counter then drove his head into the bench.

One moment there was raucous laughter. The laughter was soon replaced with shouting. Ah, how quickly a situation could change. The sound of chaos brought music to his ears. He drew back a fist then drove it forward, knuckles connecting with flesh. Thomas uttered a hiss of pain then spat. He tried to bring a hand up to push him off, but Jacob was faster and managed to pin his arm down before he could attempt anything.

He struggled to free himself. For a man who talked tough, he certainly wasn’t able to fight back well. “Let me go, boy, or I will show you the beast within!” He spat again.

Jacob punched him again then lowered his head next to Thomas’s right ear and whispered, “Don’t try to fight me in anger – my anger is unending,” he replied, before releasing his grip on the man’s collar. He took a step back, pausing momentarily to soak in the taste of victory then remembered he had plans at the Seven Bells tonight.

No one said a word. All they could hear was the panting and string of curses from Thomas. Realizing none of the men were going to attack, Jacob turned around and headed for the door, stopping abruptly at the frame. “I’ll be seeing you another day.” Still not a sound. Most likely to scared to even think straight.

Smirking, he strutted down the street, giving himself a mental pat on the back for a job well done. He knew he’d see them again in the near future – and next time he’d be a little more welcoming towards them. Perhaps he’d even give them a chance to join with his Rooks after humiliating them. What a blow that would be to the Templar Order.

He pushed past a few people, not caring to move out of his way for them. People should be stepping aside for him and not the other way around. Someone swore. He flipped them the middle finger, gave them a piece of his mind, and continued down the path. Still no sign of his sister anywhere. That was good. Going into that shop for some information had been a smart idea after all. It threw her off his current track; left her confused most likely. She’d be too busy worrying about him that he’d have an undisturbed walk to the Seven Bells.

He saw his Rooks up ahead, huddled around in a circle just a few feet away from the entrance of the bar. Their heads were together, as if they were having a deep conversation about something. He wondered what it could be. “Hate to break up the party and all, but it’s time to start taking things seriously. I need you boys to stand outside and play look out. If you see a woman coming, call for me, otherwise stay silent. I’ll summon you, all right?” he said, addressing his men.

They all nodded. “Yes, boss.”

“Remember, stay put. Don’t come until I summon you.”

The Rooks nodded again. “Will do, boss.”

“What are you planning?” Charles said.

“Nothing sensible,” Jacob answered with a lopsided grin. He removed his hat and held it out to Charles. The man seemed least likely to damage it. “Hold this. Whatever you do, don’t drop my hat.” Charles nodded. Satisfied, Jacob pulled his hood up over his head then headed inside the bar. Five Templars were seated up ahead. Two of them had the bartender on his knees whilst a third Templar tied his arms together with some rope.

“This is my bar! You can’t close it! It’ll be bad for business!”

A Templar kicked the bartender in the stomach. The man grunted. “It’s for the best. Rest assured you will be paid a reasonable sum of money whilst we carry out the investigations.”

“I already told you – there’s nothing to investigate! It was just two drunks causing trouble! The problem has been solved! Please – I just want my bar back,” the man pleaded, but the Templars weren’t interested in negotiating. He was struck in the stomach once more. This time, he remained silent. The Templars holding him down lifted him up from the floor and dragged him to the side.

“And here I was hoping to have a drink,” Jacob said, sighing with mock disappointment. The Templars froze, turned around, and narrowed their eyes.

“Oh no, not you again,” the bartender exclaimed, eyes widening. “You were the one who caused the bar to shut down in the first place! He’s the one you want! Arrest him so I can reopen my bar!” The Templars stood still, unmoving, as if they were planning their next action. Two of them exchanged knowing glances. The other Templars started to move towards him.

“You are under arrest!” a Templar barked. “Surrender now, criminal, and we will show you mercy.”

“Criminal?” Jacob repeated. “I’m no criminal; I just do what I want.” And right now he wanted to take back the bar. The self-appointed leader of the group of five lunged forward, hands reaching out for something to grab. Jacob allowed the man to push him back a few steps, then countered, ramming his knee in his stomach. The Templar staggered backwards, coughing and spluttering, and landed on his backside.

Two more Templars charged. One made a leaping tackle, but didn’t quite reach his target, and crashed to the ground. The other Templar made an abrupt stop, deciding tackling wasn’t quite the smartest idea. Jacob tilted his head to the side and waited for the Templar to attack. After all, a fight was only fun if the other person actually tried. The Templar didn’t move.

“What are you doing, you fool? Get him!”

He charged, shoulder first. Jacob waited – then turned around, grabbed a chair and threw it. The chair struck its target. The Templar’s groans filled the air as he collapsed to the floor, rubbing his head. Only two remained. “Well, which of you wants to have a go next?” Jacob taunted, darting his eyes back forth in between the last two Templars.

One of the Templars reached a hand beneath his coat. Jacob froze; a Templar had brought a gun to the fight? He threw himself over a table and took it down with him, just in time to shield himself from a bullet. The other Templar started screaming, but Jacob wasn’t paying attention. A fucking gun to a bar fight? Now the entire city central would be alerted to the area.

Annoyed, he climbed to his feet. Fortunately, the Templar appeared to only have one bullet because he didn’t try shooting again. He sauntered over, knelt down besides the gunman, slapped the gun out of his hands and glowered. “Bringing a fucking gun to a brawl? What are you, an amateur?” He punched him once. Punched him again. And punched him a third time just for the sake of giving the man a black eye and a bleeding nose.

That’s when he felt it. An explosion of pain in his upper left arm. “Motherfuck,” he swore, climbing to his feet to stagger away to safety, clutching his left arm. He stumbled into a table then tripped over onto the floor. “Rooks!” he called.

He heard footsteps from behind, but they didn’t belong to his men. The first Templar he had attacked was now up and moving again, and wearing a scowl on his face. Jacob struggled to his feet, and hobbled away as fast as he could, clenching his jaw, allowing no sound of pain to escape. He briefly removed his hand away from his injured arm, his hand covered in blood. This hadn’t turned out quite like he had hoped.

Before he knew it, he was on the floor again, having been tackled from behind by a Templar. Normally, he would’ve found it easy to take control of the situation, and switch positions, but the loss of blood was beginning to take effect. The Templar climbed on top, straddling his waist, hands clutching his collar.

“Don’t kill him, you idiot! We need him alive!”

“I’m just going to make him suffer a little! The bastard hit me first!” He raised both arms and tried to pry the Templar’s hands away from his neck, but the man’s grip was unrelenting. Attempting to swat his hands away didn’t work; it only encouraged the man to fasten his hold. “I could choke you… watch you struggle… but that would be less satisfying than watching you suffer the pain you’ve inflicted on us.”

The Templar climbed off and rose to his feet. With a grunt, Jacob forced himself up from the floor, drawing in deep breaths, and attempted to crawl away from harm. Fighting with his fists was no longer an option – he didn’t have the strength for that, but he still had one secret weapon left. He just needed the Templar in the right position.

“Where do you think you’re going, lad?” Jacob felt fingers grab a tuft of his hair and jerked him upright so that he was on knees. _Just a little bit closer_ , Jacob thought. The Templar then did something he hadn’t anticipated – a swift knee beneath the belt. Blind rage filled him. Using his newfound energy, he sprung forward, activated his hidden blade and drove it through the Templar’s right shin then withdrew it.

A piercing scream filled the air. The Templar released his grip immediately, collapsing to the floor, hands flying down to his wounded leg. The man would never walk again. He’d probably bleed to death here on the floor. Consumed with fiery pain, Jacob rolled over onto his side, a deep groan leaving his throat. Where the bloody hell were his Rooks?

.

Evie was on her way to Henry when she heard a gunshot that caused her to stop dead in her tracks. It came from the direction she had just come from – could it be? The Seven Bells? She couldn’t imagine the Templars would use a gun on an innocent civilian – that wouldn’t help their order’s image. It had to be someone else.

“Evie!” She turned her head towards the source, and spotted Henry clambering down a wall. He rushed over to her, concern written all over his face. “You heard the gun shot too. I haven’t seen your brother, and I thi-“

Think that he disobeyed her and ran off to deal with the problem himself. Typical. Always wanting to prove to everyone and himself that he didn’t need to be a stealth-expert to win battles. Pride would be his downfall if he wasn’t careful. But no matter how many times she told him so, he still willingly sought out trouble. It was almost as if he was addicted to the thrill of danger.

“…and he wonders why I treat him like a child…” she murmured. “The one time I ask him to step down…” She stopped herself short. A part of the blame fell on her shoulders. She knew she should’ve been watching over him. That was her responsibility. Always look out for your brother, her father had told her. But for once, she wanted to trust him to do the right thing.

“Don’t blame yourself, Evie.”

She glanced sideways. “You don’t understand what it’s like to have a younger sibling, especially one like my brother. Stubborn, self-assured, and a magnet for trouble. It’s a full-time job looking after him. He’s all that I have left….” She trailed off. “Father, dead. Brotherhood, broken. He might be a bone-headed fool, but he’s my brother.”

“No, I don’t understand, but I know what it feels like to lose something you care about. Before I came to London…” Henry stopped, as if realizing he was close to spilling his life secrets. “Perhaps I’ll tell you another day. Let’s find your brother first then sort out this mess with the Seven Bells. Come, let’s go.” He hurried over to the edge of the roof then jumped to the next roof. Evie followed close behind him.

They continued leaping from roof to roof until they reached the Seven Bells. Fortunately, no other Templars had arrived. Perhaps there was a slight chance they hadn’t heard it? She led the way down to the back entrance of the bar. Going through the front would make it much harder to sneak up on the enemy. Her feet touched the ground. Crouching, she crept forward, sticking close to the shadows, occasionally stopping every couple of metres to gauge her surroundings.

Henry bumped into her. “Sorry,” he whispered.

She didn’t reply. Poking her head around the corner, she checked both directions for danger. Nothing. No sign of Clara or her father either. Clara had probably gone into hiding. What she did hear was a couple of men issuing threats. She snuck forward, still cautious. A Templar could be hiding in the dark waiting to ambush. Fortunately, it appeared her brother and his helpers had taken them all out. She stepped into the main room.

She wasn’t at all surprised to see five Templars lying on the ground, all unconscious. What she didn’t expect to see was her brother lying just ahead, unmoving. Was he… She hurried forward, dropping onto her knees besides Jacob. Immediately, she checked for a pulse. There! A beat. At least he was alive.

“Why didn’t you listen to me, brother,” she murmured, eyes wandering up his left shoulder, focusing on the patch of blood. He had been shot. No wonder he was lying on the floor passed out.

“He’s your brother?” one of the Rooks said.

She glanced up, temporarily having forgotten they were present. The one who had spoken had shoulder-length black greasy hair and equally dark eyes. He was clutching Jacob’s hat to his chest. She supposed he was the ‘leader’ of this group of five. Well, that was before they had been recruited. “Yes. I’d like to talk more, but we need to help him. He’s been shot. What’s your name?”

“Charles.”

“Go find me a cloth, Charles - I need something to wrap around his arm.”

“Yes, mam.” The Rook hurried off to raid the kitchen area. The other Rooks watched nervously; one of them, a blond, was shifting his weight from foot to foot, a finger resting on his lower lip. Either these Rooks hadn’t been gang members for very long or they hadn’t witnessed much blood. Charles soon returned with a cloth in his left hand.

Evie snatched it from his hands and wrapped it around her brother’s arm and tightened it. “Take off your coat. He’ll need to be kept warm,” she ordered. Charles obeyed, quickly removing his coat to give to Evie. She laid it over her brother.

“We should find a doctor.”

“No time. We’ll have to remove the bullet ourselves,” Evie said.

“But we have nothing to cut it out with?”

She had her throwing knives, and Henry had a kukri. Her brother had one as well. Reaching a hand into her coat, she pulled out a knife. A doctor would be the smart idea, but she had no idea where one could be found. Besides, they didn’t have the time to find and wait for one – Jacob had already passed out from blood loss.

“Forgive me, brother,” she said. On the plus side, he wouldn’t be engaging in any fist fights for a couple of days. On the downside, they’d be one person short as Henry had no interest in taking part in their activities, and the Rooks lacked the skills of an Assassin and weren’t really in any condition to fight. Jacob was going to be pissed when he discovered he wasn’t going to be able to fight so effectively for the next few days.

Taking in a deep breath, she rolled up her brother’s sleeve. Finding another trench coat like this would be difficult to find. She didn’t want to give her brother another reason to be upset so was careful not to damage it. “You can do this, Evie,” Henry said.

“Here goes nothing. I’ll need you boys to hold him still… My brother can be quite… temperamental.” Two of the Rooks knelt down and held Jacob’s arms to the ground. Once she was certain her brother was pinned down, she set to work on his upper arm, cutting into the flesh. Fortunately, the bullet scraped his arm, and hadn’t gone too far deep. At least no bone had been splintered.

As she cut into his arm, she felt her brother twitch beneath. “He’s regaining consciousness!” Charles exclaimed, holding down her brother’s right arm with two hands.

“Hold him still.” There! The bullet! Carefully, she cut it out of the tissue, and discarded the bullet onto the ground. Whoever had shot her brother had a death sentence atop his head.

“What’s next?”

“We’ll have to cauterize the wound. He’s not going to like this very much.” Rising to her feet, Evie searched around the tavern, searching for a heat source. Her eyes focused on the fire pit. A gas lamp would’ve been the better option, but the fire pit was the only heat source in sight. She hurried over, placed her knife above the flames and waited until it was scorching hot before returning to his side.

Her brother’s eyes opened. Never had she seen him so pale before. It was as if all the colour had drained from his face. “…Father… I don’t want to do this anymore… This is pointless…” he murmured. Great. He was imagining things now. Delirious. At least he was speaking.

Evie gazed down into his eyes. “Not father, Evie. Your sister.”

“…Evie?”

“Yes. You’ve been shot. I have to cauterize the wound. This is going to hurt.” Henry offered her a cloth. “You’re going to want to bite into this.”

“…I can handle anything…”

Stubborn as always. “Your choice.” She pressed her blade’s side against the open wound. An anguished cry tore through her brother’s chest.

He attempted to lash out at those holding him fury fuelling his actions, but the Rooks were doing a good job of keeping him pinned. Evie shoved the cloth in his mouth silencing his shouts and continued to hold the knife in place. When she felt enough had been done, she withdrew the knife, laid it on the ground and grabbed another cloth. The next step was cleaning the wound then wrapping it up with a new cloth and making sure her brother didn’t try anything.

Her brother stopped screaming. He was lying still, taking in deep heavy breaths, probably trying to calm himself down. She gave him a sympathetic look – her poor brother. Maybe he’d learn something from this. “Get some rest. I’ll talk to you afterwards.”

For once, he didn’t argue. Most likely he was still in a state of shock. He closed his eyes, as she started to clean the wound, dabbing away at the blood with the tip of the cloth. “More Templars are going to arrive, Evie,” Henry started.

Evie glanced in the direction of one of fallen Templars. One of them was beginning to regain consciousness. An idea formed in her head, a smile spreading across her face. It was so simple. “How do you feel about disguising yourself?”


	9. Calm Before the Storm

Disguising themselves as Templars was an easy task; all she had to do was change out of her clothes and dress up as a commoner. Henry changed out of his garbs as well, replacing them temporarily with the garments a Templar had donned. The plan was simple - pretend to be Templars and hope whoever entered the room was gullible enough to fall for their disguise. The Rooks had dragged the unconscious bodies into the kitchen, and stuffed them inside the cabinets.

“What do we do about your brother?” Henry said.

Evie glanced down. He was fast asleep on the floor, a pile of bloodied cloths besides him. Picking him up wasn’t an option. She thought hard, contemplating the next action to take. Well, he did look half dead. He was still pale so there was a chance he could pass for a dead man… or a drunken passed out fool. She could weave a tale, and inform any arriving Templars the troublemaker had foolishly shot himself. Hopefully, the plan worked otherwise there’d be no other option than to kill them all.

“Pretend that he shot himself during a drunken rage fit and hope the Templars fall for it,” she suggested. 

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s going to work?”

“We can only hope.”

She headed towards the front counter and leaned her back against it, pretending to play it cool. Henry headed over to the entrance, poked his head around the corner and looked both ways. The Rooks remained in hiding to ensure the Templars didn’t try to escape. “Carriage arriving from the right. Only one I can see. We might’ve gotten lucky,” Henry reported. “It’s that time of the day where most of the taverns are filled with customers… Noise might’ve drowned the gunshot out. Pretend to look busy – a few men are climbing out.”

Evie looked around, searching for something to do. She first thought about serving drinks then remembered she was dressed up as a Templar, and not a common local. Instead, she moved to her brother and made sure the cloth around his arm was wrapped firmly around it. Jacob had been fortunate – if the bullet had moved just a slight inch to the left, it would’ve made contact with bone. What could’ve been a disastrous situation had been averted.

Footsteps caught her attention. Sparing a glance over her shoulder, she spotted two lanky males enter. They didn’t bear the symbol of the Templar Order, but they carried themselves in the same manner, with shoulders pinned back, and noses held up high. Both men were dressed in black tailcoats and wore black helmets on their heads. The local police force.

Up until now, she hadn’t concerned herself with the police. They might have been indirectly linked to the Templars, but they didn’t wear the colours of the Order, which made them untouchable in her eyes. That was one of the most important tenets of the Creed – never harm an innocent. Even her brother could understand that basic teaching. He might’ve roughed up a few innocents when angered, but he never murdered them. Innocent until proven guilty… unless you were a Templar of course then you were automatically guilty by association in the eyes of her brother.

The policeman scanned the room. “We heard a gunshot,” the first man said, turning to face Evie.

Evie nodded. “A drunk, sir,” she explained, jerking her head towards her brother. “We were here on a routine check and arrived in good time. This man fired a gun as a cruel joke. You know what these drunken fools can be like.”

“He looks like he’s been shot.”

“He shot himself, sir. Drunk, remember? The gun has been safely removed.”

The policeman’s eyes shifted back and forth between the pair before he finally nodded. “Some people shouldn’t be allowed to touch alcohol… Ah well, you both arrived at the right time. Without your help, these streets would be overrun with idiots like that. He could’ve killed himself, and that would be one more grave for us to dig.” He cast Jacob a distrusting look then smiled at Evie. “You be careful out there now. I hear there’s a murderer of Templars roaming the streets.”

Evie put on a fake smile. “Thank you for the concern, but we’ll be fine.”

The policeman brought a hand to his chin, playing with the strap that kept his helmet secure atop his head. “Well, it seems like you have this under control anyway. You tell Bloody Nora the police are grateful for this alliance.”

“I’ll be sure to pass the message on.”

“Farewell to you then.”

The pair turned their backs and walked out of the bar. Once gone, Evie exhaled a deep breath, thankful to have gotten out of that situation. Lazy gullible police. No wonder they had allied themselves with the Templars. It made their jobs that much easier. She met with Henry’s eyes, and noticed his brows were furrowed, his lips pressed in a thin line. That look read, ‘I don’t like this’. It was often reserved for her brother whenever he opened his mouth. “So now we can confirm the police and the Templars are working together. Just what we need.”

“It makes perfect sense. Who knows the law better than the ones who are responsible for upholding it? I wouldn’t be surprised if the police are supplying Templars with weapons and ammunition,” Henry explained, hand rubbing his chin. “We’ll need to be extra careful. We’re not just dealing with Templars anymore.”

“Which means we’ll need to always plan ahead before we take action,” Evie replied. That would mean ensuring her brother stayed out of trouble. He wasn’t exactly known for being subtle. With the police and Templars working together, taking control of the streets would be much more difficult. Thanks to her brother’s antics, the police would double up their guard to ensure such incidents didn’t happen again.

“Exactly,” came Henry’s response. He then sighed. “I warned you against this. I knew this was going to happen, but you insisted… And now here we are. You’re playing a dangerous game, Evie. One wrong move and we lose. You’re now responsible for the lives of the men and women you recruit. If they die, their blood will be on your hands. Can you live with that?”

Tough question, but he raised a fair point she hadn’t taken into consideration earlier. They were now responsible for lives other than their own. The Rooks were part of the family now, or at least an extension of it. She was no stranger to death – throughout her life, she had witnessed many deaths, often dealt by her hand. But this would be different. The Rooks were allies. These were the people they had sworn to protect.

“Evie?”

She pushed a loose strand of hair behind her right ear, and nodded. “No one will die under my watch.”

“I hope for you and your brother’s sake those words remain true.”

.

Pain. So much bloody pain. Even the slightest movement sent a shudder of pain running down his arm. His head throbbed, his legs refused to move, but the worst was the fucking pain in his upper left arm. It was as if someone had stabbed him with a knife countless times over. With a groan, he forced himself to sit in an upright position.

The room was a mess. It reminded him of the time he had argued with his father about something petty. Naturally, it ended in an argument. He had retaliated by throwing and breaking anything he could his hands on until his anger died down. That was when his father helped him direct his anger elsewhere – at fighting Templars.

Introducing him to the Brotherhood was supposed to help him with his anger problems, but instead it opened to the doors to street fights. It started off with relieving stress by beating up the neighbourhood bullies then quickly turned into starting fights for the thrill. He couldn’t help it – as soon as someone threw an insult his way, he’d be on them in a flash.

Wait. Was that blood? On his coat? He pushed aside his thoughts for a brief moment, examining the blood on the floor and on his clothes. There was a cloth firmly wrapped around his arm, as well as a pile of bloodstained cloths to his left. That’s when he noticed a bullet nearby. He had been shot? Well, that would explain the blinding pain in his arm.

“Jacob!”

He jerked his head towards the sound and spotted both his sister and Henry rushing towards him. For once, she wasn’t scowling at him. “Sister. Henry.” But where were the Rooks? Dammit. He forced himself up from the ground, staggered a little, and almost toppled over. Fortunately, his sister was there to support him.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, Jacob. You shouldn’t exert yourself.”

“I’m going to find whoever did this, and I’m going to kill them.”

Evie shook her head. “You won’t be killing anyone for a couple of days, dear brother. Besides, we’ve dealt with the Templars, so you don’t have to worry about them. You should be more concerned about your recovery.” She tried to lead him towards a chair, but he refused to budge.

“Not until I find him,” he growled back.

“Sit,” she said.

He pushed her aside with his good arm and sauntered towards the entrance. He was going to find the prick, beat him to a pulp then recruit him after proving his dominance. The more men he had under his wing, the better the chances of taking control of London. All he had to do was-

“Jacob Frye, sit down _now._ ”

He stopped a metre short of the doorway. Whenever his sister used his full name it meant he was in deep trouble. Never mess with Evie Frye. It was a lesson he had learned the hard way shortly afterwards having joined the local Brotherhood of his hometown. The plan had been to embarrass his sister by beating her in a play fight in front of the other Assassins. The result? She defeated him, and he had to clean up after the horses for a week as punishment for not taking his lessons seriously. From that day on, he knew never to overstep that boundary with his sister.

“You can’t expect me to sit here and do nothing,” he whined. What did she expect him to do? Sit around the bar and do nothing but reflect on past events? Or did she expect him to sit down and listen to her plans while he pretended to care, nodding every few seconds to show he was listening? He was a man of action! He looked to Henry for support. “Don’t tell me you agree with her? We need to be out there now!”

Henry shrugged. “Sorry Jacob, but your sister is correct. Sit down, so we can talk properly about our future plans.”

So, Henry was supporting his sister then. Funny that. Since when did they get on so well with each other? Although Henry always had a tendency to side with Evie on almost everything because agreeing with Evie meant disagreeing with him. He grumbled. “Fine.” He walked towards a table and sat down. “I want a drink.”

“That reminds me, you haven’t been introduced properly to Paul and Clara yet,” Evie said.

“Paul? Clara?”

“Henry?”

Henry nodded. “I’ll be back shortly.”

He headed towards the back entrance of the tavern leaving Jacob alone with his sister. Again, Jacob couldn’t help but feel like he was missing out on something. Did Henry enjoy his sister’s companionship? He hadn’t missed noticing Henry always looked to his sister first for an opinion. “You came back to the bar. How’d you know I was here?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t listen.” She leaned back in her chair, eyes resting on his face. “If I had been just a few minutes late, you might’ve lost that arm of yours. Now instead of complaining, why don’t we discuss what we’re going to do next?”

He poked at the cloth on his arm. “How many days do I have to keep this on?”

“Depends on you. Stay out of trouble, and you should recover within a few days.”

Great. A couple of days of lazing around at the Seven Bells. Oh well. At least he’d have the Rooks as company. Speaking of the Rooks, where were they anyway? He needed them to keep him sane for the next couple of days. As much as he loved his sister, another day of her prattling would drive him up the wall. “By any chance, do you know where the Rooks went? You can’t have missed them.”

“They’re cleaning out the back,” Evie answered. “I’ve already had a chance to talk with them.”

“And? What did you think?”

“They seem all right.”

“You don’t sound terribly convinced.”

Shaking her head, she sighed. “Circumstances didn’t allow for us to properly meet. We’ll just have a party later on so we can swap names.”

“Great!”

“I wasn’t-Nevermind.” She looked at his arm. “How are you feeling anyway?”

“Sore. A little irritated, but alive.”

Henry returned a few moments later, accompanied by the bartender and a young girl with pigtails. He frowned at the girl. She looked familiar. Hadn’t he seen her a few days earlier whilst the carriage trip with Mercutio? What on earth was she doing hiding in dangerous alley way all alone? As soon as the bartender noticed him, his eyes widened. “This is your brother?”

“In the flesh,” he replied with a grin.

The man brought a hand to his forehead and shook his head. He murmured something to himself which sounded suspiciously like, ‘I need to find a new a job.’ The girl on the other hand, looked delighted to see him. “Oh, he’s so cute!”

Cute? Jacob raised a brow, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or be insulted that it had come from a young child. “Thanks, I guess?”

Clara tugged on her father’s arm. “Dad, these are the Assassins I was telling you about earlier! They’ve come here to help us!”

Wait. This girl knew they were Assassins? How was that even possible? Jacob turned to his sister for an explanation. She just responded with a casual shrug of the shoulders and mouthed the words, ‘just listen’.

“Assassins?” the father repeated. He looked sick. Jacob couldn’t quite blame the man. The guy had almost lost his bar because of him. “…and they told me life would be easier as I became older…” he muttered. “You want a drink?”

Jacob nodded. “Yes.”

The bartender nodded and walked off, still talking to himself about having to visit a doctor this time. Once he was gone, Evie started to talk. “They’ve agreed to help us out,” she started. “Clara provided us some information about the Templars earlier on in the week whilst you were busy recruiting. The Templars are called the Blighters, and Bloody Nora is their leader. She has her lackeys. There’s six of them – one for each for the remaining six districts in London.”

“Then we can take them all out, one by one,” Jacob said. “I can take them.”

Henry shook his head, folding his arms. “We don’t even know where to find them, let alone know where their exact hiding places are. Let’s not forget that you’re outnumbered.”

Jacob shrugged. “We’ll recruit more Rooks then.”

“Easier said than done,” Henry replied. “There’ll be more police on patrols now after this incident. Gangs will be harder to find. You’re going to have to search every alleyway in London to find some allies, and I’m sure you’ll be met with some resistance.”

“Then we find these hideouts and take them by force,” Jacob replied. “We kill the leaders and the strongholds will become ours for the taking. It’s all so simple.”

“…Only that’s it’s not as easy as you claim it to be,” Henry countered. “London is a big place. We’ll need transport to get from district to district quickly, and your men don’t wear the gauntlets we have.”

The bartender returned with a single black mug of ale. Jacob helped himself to it immediately, took a swig then set it down. “We’ll take the carriages for ourselves. Fuck paying a fee every time. Should’ve thought of that earlier… Would’ve saved me a fair bit.”

“Stealing carriages?”

Again, he shrugged, slightly confused. “What’s the big deal? You said it yourself – our guys haven’t been trained like us. If they’re going to help us win, then we’ll have to travel using carriages. Do you know how much they charge? A fucking fortune for a short ride! It’s cheaper getting a mug of bloody ale down at The Thistle’s Crown.”

“Boys, both of you, drop it,” Evie said, sending a glare in his direction. Of course she’d blame him for starting it. “What’s obvious is that we need to be careful. We can’t expose what we are to the public. If the Templars receive word that we’re Assassins they’ll be much harder take down.”

“And the police?”

“Leave the police to me. You can handle the recruiting efforts.”

He smirked. “As soon as my arm has healed, the boys and I will start the hunt.”

Clara cleared her throat. Right. Clara. He had forgotten about her. “I can help. I know this city better than the three of you combined. I hear things. People tell children stories all the time because they think I don’t understand what they’re saying. I know a man called Robert Strain is arriving tomorrow to visit Bloody Nora.”

Jacob gave his sister a hopeful look. “It’s worth checking out. Have to know the face of the enemy before we strike, right? Don’t want to kill the wrong guy.” He took another swig then rose up from the chair.

“Where are you going?”

“Finding this Robert Strain prick.”

Evie climbed to her feet. “Not today you are. We’ll head out tomorrow.”

He sat back down again. Night had fallen. Many of the shops would probably be closed now anyway. “Fine. Will Henry be joining us in our adventures?”

“I think I will actually. It would be nice to see a bit of London.”

“While you’re out tomorrow, could you buy me some cleaning materials?” the bartender called. “You do owe me for bringing trouble into my bar, and for making a mess. If you three are going to stay here, you’re going to help out. I don’t care if you’re Assassins – you will help me clean up.”

Jacob grunted. He hated cleaning. That was one of Evie’s many specialties. “Yeah, sure.” He paused, then, “Rooks!” he barked. A few moments later, his group of five men came scurrying out of whatever place they were hiding in, looking a little bit nervous.

“Yes, boss?”

“Help this man clean up the bar.” Before the bartender could reply, Jacob strolled towards the kitchen area. There was a flight of stairs in the corner leading to the upper level where the beds were. Why clean up when someone else could? Besides, the Seven Bells was now the home for the Rooks as well.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Evie said, glancing at his arm again, as they walked up the stairs.

The blood had long since stopped, but he could still feel a lingering pain. At least he was able to walk on steady legs again. He also didn’t like his legs were going to give way beneath him anymore. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” There were six rooms upstairs – three on the left, and three on the right. Each room had an identical murky brown door. He took the one on the far right, while his sister took the one opposite. Henry settled for the room on the furthest left on Evie’s side.

Placing fingers around the doorknob, he turned it clockwise then stepped inside, closing it behind him. It was a quaint little room with rose wallpaper. There was also a strange musky odour of something he couldn’t quite describe. The only furniture in the room was a dark brown three drawer cabinet pushed up against the eastern wall. On the surface of the cabinet were a few candles, a jug and a bowl. Above it was an old photo of what he suspected was deceased family members.

The bed was opposite to the cabinet. Like the room, it was also small, and less extravagant than what he had back in his original home. The bed didn’t even have curtains around it – instead, it was a simple thing with white linen sheets and pillows. Truly a working class room. Not that he minded. He’d hardly be spending much time here anyway.

He put his hat on the bed head and immediately climbed on top, pulling the sheets up towards his chin. Closing his eyes, he thought of the events that tomorrow would bring, before finally drifting off to sleep.


	10. Nice to Meet You

Jacob was always the first person in the Frye family to wake up - getting up early meant more time in the day to carry out important tasks like tracking down Templars and getting up to mischief. He considered playing a prank on Henry since the man was so uptight and serious all the time, but the man had placed something heavy behind his door. Perhaps a desk. It was almost as if he predicted Jacob would try something and had gone to extreme lengths to ensure his sleep was not interrupted.

He turned his attention to Evie’s door, and thought about playing a prank on her, but decided against it at the last moment. Like Henry, she lacked a sense of humour. She had no real sense of adventure, often preferring to play it safe and not take dangerous risks. It was one of the reasons they clashed so much – he was a risk taker, and she was not. He liked chaos, she preferred order. He expressed emotions openly whilst she kept them bottled inside. No wonder she was always on his case.

Turning away from her door, he made his way down the stairs, thinking of the day that lay ahead. The bartender, Paul, had asked them to visit the local store to purchase some items. Shopping wasn’t high on his priority list, but at least it’d give him a chance to get out of the bar for a couple of hours. There was nothing worse than having to remain in one place for too long.

“You are up early,” Paul said, giving him a slight nod as Jacob entered the kitchen area. The smell of cooked eggs filled his nostrils, prompting his stomach to growl. It had been quite some time since he had anything decent for a meal. Evie cooked, but she wasn’t an expert. Normally, they stuck to basic food items such as eggs and bread. “An early riser?”

Jacob nodded, and walked over to the counter, searching for a menu. He found one leaning against a column and picked it up, scanning through the items on the list. Tea, coffee or schweitzer’s cocatina. Porridge and cream. Friend whiting, grilled halibut or bloaters. Chop, kidneys and bacon. Devilled fowl. Ham or bacon and fried eggs. Omelette aux fines herbs. Pomes lyonnaise. Picked up cod or dry hash. Peek frean and com’s biscuits. Cerebos salt. Wall and son’s sausages. Lea and perrin’s sauce. Plain breakfast with boiled eggs, cold meat or cold chicken.

So many choices, but which one to take? Not that it mattered – this was their home now, and he’d have more than enough time to try everything at least once. The price of each meal was between seven and nine pounds. How was it that breakfast was cheaper than a ride around town? “What time do you open for breakfast?”

“Eight am and we stop serving at three pm. We close for an hour to prepare the bar for the night crowd.”

Jacob searched for a clock. He found an old antique clock behind the counter to Paul’s right in a corner. It was now six thirty. Ninety minutes until breakfast then. “So it’s just you and your daughter who work here?”

Paul nodded. “My wife used to work here too, but she passed two years ago. She had an injury. Templars refused to help her because we didn’t have the money at the time. Clara was only ten when it happened.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. That’s the life we have here. You’re either born lucky or not.” The man turned his back and wandered over to a drawer then returned a frame in his hand. He laid it out on the counter for Jacob to see. There were three people in the photo – a man, a woman and a young child, all wearing smiles on their faces. Obviously this was Paul’s family. “I have every reason to despise the Templars. I’ve heard about your Brotherhood and what you stand for. That’s why I’m allowing your kind to stay here.”

He out the photo away back into the drawer. Hearing the man’s words only made his hatred of the Templars grow stronger. Greed. Power. Control. The Templars preached order and peace, but their words were nothing but lies. Each word they spoke was poison. A better world, a better tomorrow? Only for the select minority of the population. “Sorry for hitting you earlier,” he mumbled.

Paul gave a snort. “I’m still feeling it today. You spent a lot on the streets, didn’t you?”

“How did you know that?”

“I know a thug when I see one.”

Heat rushed to his cheeks. “I’m not a thug.”

“Say what you want to believe, but I’ve been around for twice your years and I’ve seen many types of people. Anyone can fight – but only so few know how to make a hit hurt for days. I have something that might be of some use to you if you’re interested.”

Jacob snorted. “I doubt that.”

“Injuries don’t heal overnight. You might think you’re tougher than the average person, but even the strongest of men can fall,” Paul quipped.

He turned back to the drawer again and pulled something else out. This time, it wasn’t a frame. It was something he had never laid eyes on before. There were two items made of brass, and both had five circles. Four loops side by side, and one larger one that seemed perfectly shaped for something the size of a wrist. At first he thought it was some strange torture device. “What is that?”

“Call them brass knuckles. You slide your through this hole here,” he said, pointing to the larger oval-shaped one beneath the four loops then continued, “and your fingers go through the other holes. It may look uncomfortable, but they pack quite a punch.”

He brought his face closer towards them, his curiosity piqued. The words, ‘Strength Through Loyalty’ could be read on the wooden handle below the oval. “How’d you come across this?” As much as he didn’t want to agree with Paul, he was right. He had the skills, but with a wounded arm, he was equal to any man who knew how to fight.

“Many of the younger folk weren’t alive when it happened, but those old enough to remember harbour ill feelings towards your kind. Your people once called London their home and swore to protect it only to leave the city to collapse. In the absence of the Brotherhood, the Templars came in and seized control. Some people have tried to rebel, but as you can see that hasn’t worked well.”

“My sister and I were never a part of the British Brotherhood. It had already fallen by the time we swore our oaths. We had our own local one.” One which was comprised of a few people yet was still a functioning important Brotherhood despite the smallness.

“Yet you’re still Assassins.”

He nodded. “It wasn’t a choice for us. We were born into it.”

“What brought you to London if you don’t mind me asking?”

“The working class people did. My sister and I grew up in the slums. I guess you could say we felt a connection to the people here. Work all day long for little gain while people at the top reap the rewards they don’t deserve. Help those who can’t help themselves.”

“A noble cause.”

“Like I said earlier, I’m not some common thug.”

Paul studied him for a few moments then gestured at the brass knuckles. “These are just some of the remaining artefacts of your Brotherhood. I’d like you to have them.”

Jacob glanced up, surprised. “Why? I thought you didn’t think too highly of Assassins.”

“You proved me wrong. You’re not the man I assumed you to be. Who knows, you and your sister might just be what this city needs.” He pushed the brass knuckles towards Jacob. “You deserve them. I have no use for brass knuckles anyway.”

He studied the melee weapon for a few seconds, wondering just how well they’d fare in a battle. Even with a wounded arm, he’d be able to fight since he’d use less effort inflicting damage. Perhaps… His thoughts moved to the Thistle’s Crown and the gang of Templars he had encountered the other day. They’d make for good practice. Of course, he’d have to sneak out of the bar without his sister knowing which would be a difficult task since she was the sneaking expert. Maybe he could convince her he was going to have a boy’s night out with the Rooks. Or he could just take a risk and climb out a window.

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to make good use of them.” He took the melee weapons and placed them within a pocket inside his trench coat. Paul turned around again, and walked off, most likely to grab a few items from within the kitchen. Jacob grabbed the menu and moved over to a table and made himself comfortable. What to eat? So many choices.

“Good morning brother.”

Ah, Evie had woken up. Much earlier than expected. She probably had trouble sleeping last night knowing what the plan was for today. Keep eye on brother and hope he didn’t get up to any sort of mischief whilst in public. He wondered how she got any sleep at all. “Morning, Evie. Sleep well?”

She took the seat opposite to him. “I’ve been thinking about today. There’ll be more police on the streets after yesterday’s events.”

“The police don’t concern me.”

“I know, but they should.”

Jacob put the menu down. “What’s the worst they can do? We’re smarter, stronger and faster.”

“They have numbers… and Templar support. I wouldn’t underestimate the power of numbers, brother. Police work for the law… Templars are the law,” Evie explained, as if he didn’t know what a policeman was.

He rolled his eyes. “Who cares?”

Evie raised her hands in the air. A sign of surrender. Often she did that when she saw there was no point in carrying the conversation further. “We’ll need to head out as soon as Henry joins us. The more time we spend here, the more time the Templars have to move about. Robert Strain is arriving, but I doubt he’ll be the only important Templar coming. This is our chance to see the faces of them all.”

“You’ve already planned this all out, haven’t you?” Jacob replied, leaning back in his seat. “Honestly, you take out the fun in everything.”

“I plan ahead to avoid failure.”

Silence fell. Jacob didn’t have a response to that. Typical Evie. She always found a way to silence him. He handed her the menu. “I’m not leaving until we’ve eaten. Can’t do anything on an empty stomach. What do you want?”

“I’m not hungry.”

He took the menu back. “Your loss then.” Evie sighed, but didn’t say anything else. Instead, she rose to her feet, and headed back towards the kitchen area, probably in search of Henry. Once she was out of sight, he reached a hand within his pocket, fingers brushing up against the cool brass of the weapons. Paul had said they had once belonged to the Assassins of the British Brotherhood, but they didn’t look to have been used much, if at all. He pulled his fingers back, smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. That was going to change.

.

Robert Strain was a proud man who liked to walk with shoulders pinned back, chest thrust out, and nose up high in the air. The Templar insignia was displayed clearly on his left side so everyone was aware of his status and allegiance. He also made sure he never travelled anywhere alone – having minions made him feel more powerful. The more men he had under his control, the better treatment he would receive from Bloody Nora.

That wasn’t to say his relationship with her was strained – in fact, Bloody Nora rated him highly. It was why she had given him control of one of the wealthier boroughs in London, but she was a hard woman to please. There was always something more that could be done. More men to recruit. More bases to establish. More commoners to intimidate.

Each of the leaders was eager to please Nora. Getting on her bad side resulted in a quick death. She had a low tolerance for failure, and an even lower tolerance towards weakness. That was how she had earned the title ‘Bloody’ in the first place. He remembered the day when a man had disobeyed a direct order. She had shot him in the head in front of all present Templars then had his head hung outside her house for a short time. Ever since that day, no one dared to disobey.

They carried on further down the road, turning a sharp corner into a narrow street full of shops. The driver slowed the horses down to help navigate the tight turns better. Several pairs of suspicious eyes locked on them as they trotted through. Robert didn’t need to be told they had entered the slums. The horse droppings on the road were evident enough to know this area was neglected.

Raising a hand to his face, he pinched his nostrils together, the stench of the droppings beginning to make his stomach churn. The perfect home for criminals. If he was in charge of the Blighters, he’d have all the poor areas walled off. That would keep filth inside and prevent them from mixing in with the rich, though he supposed they needed some people to carry out the menial tasks.

“Can we please pick up the pace? I feel dirty just being here,” Robert ordered, scratching at his arm, as if rubbing away some dirt.

“I’m going as fast as allowed, sir,” the driver replied. “If I go any faster, people will get trampled on.”

Robert Strain squeezed his eyes shut in annoyance, forced a deep sigh then reopened his eyes again. At this rate, they’d be better off walking. “Do you want your head hung outside Nora’s doorknob?”

That was enough to prompt the driver to urge the horses to move faster. A few commoners complained, but blurted out apologies the moment they saw the Templar cross. Watching the common people draw back in fear filled him with elation. There was nothing more satisfying than knowing just your presence was enough to make people tremble and submit themselves. He didn’t even have to raise a finger or speak a word.

It wasn’t long before they reached the end of the street. They were now out in the open wide roads again where the poor and rich crossed paths. Of course, the rich always made sure to distance themselves from the poor, as if fearing they would catch a disease if they stood too close. The poor were always easy to spot. Greasy hair, dirt-stained faces and poor quality cloth material were the usual signs.

 _Criminals most likely,_ Robert Strain thought. When the Templars had seized control, they cleaned up the streets. The poor and the rich once lived in the same streets, but the Templars changed that. They divided London into separate divisions – they separated the poor from the rich. It was all for the greater good. If society was to improve then only the strong could advance. It was just a shame that not everyone could see that.

Robert turned to face the driver. Brown bangs covered his right eye. “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”

“Mercutio,” the man replied.

“Right. Can you tell me what the latest news is here is? Riding in silence bores me.”

“Well, there’s been a few murders, sir. A few Templars have been killed. Rumour has it that Assassins are at work.”

Assassins? He almost laughed. The Brotherhood had left London decades ago! Why would they now suddenly return? Why would Assassins care about a bunch of poor people anyway? Most of these people were poor because of bad decision making and thus deserved it. Not to mention most of these filthy beggars were criminals. Mercutio wasn’t smiling however. Perhaps there was some truth to his words. The smile faded from his face. “So that’s why Bloody Nora has summoned all the leaders…” he murmured.

She had a plan and she wanted all the leaders to play a role in it. He wondered what she could have in mind. Knowing Bloody Nora, it wouldn’t end so well for the opposition, but why would she need so many men when she already had the majority of the numbers? Perhaps she didn’t feel her men could carry out the task. He pinned his shoulders as far back as he could. This was a chance to prove that he could be second-in-command of the Blighters.

“Here we are at the meeting point,” Mercutio said, stopping by the sidewalk. Robert had been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized they had arrived at the destination. “I’ll be here to pick you and your men up just before the sun goes down. You’ll need to head up the road then take the first turn right,” he added, as Robert climbed out of the carriage.

Strain nodded, tipping his hat forward as a sign of gratitude. “I expect you’ll arrive on time. I do not want to be caught out in the streets at night.”

“I’ll be here.” Mercutio pulled on the reins making his horses move forward once more.

Two carriages pulled up a few moments later, offloading his personal group of bodyguards. There were six in total. All his men wore identical brown coats and matching black top hats. Once the drivers had disappeared, Strain turned to face his men, all of whom were looking at him with eager anticipation. “I’ll need you men to stay outside the building while I talk to Bloody Nora. Keep your eyes out for suspicious behaviour.”

The men nodded, and spread themselves out in front of the restaurant called the Falcon’s Nest. The place was hard to miss. There were two rows of windows – white curtains on the bottom row made it more difficult for outsiders to peer in, and pot plants hung from the top row. The words, ‘The Falcon’s Nest’ were painted in big yellow letters on the windows. It was one of few places Strain liked to visit when he came to the city central. The less fortunate people did not come here because the prices were far too high. It was the dining place for the rich and wealthy. He took off his top hat, folded it then tucked it beneath his coat as he entered the room.

Unlike most of the places within London, this dining area did not reek of cheap wine. Wine was served, but limited to two per table. The tables themselves were small and circular, and each one was covered with a white cloth. There were two chairs per table, as if one designed the layout with couples in mind.

Paintings of locals playing football hung on parts of the green-wallpapered walls. He himself had never played football, but it was apparently popular with the poor people. That was probably why he had never tried it. There were other old photos on the walls of locals engaging in other activities, but he didn’t care to name any of them. He had come here to talk with Nora.

“Robert Strain, it’s good to see you have arrived on time,” Nora said.

He turned to face her. Bloody Nora was dressed in her usual garbs – a black coat and matching pants and top. Her eyes locked on his. He acknowledged her with a nod, and waited for the woman to walk over to join him at the table. “The Falcon’s Nest, eh? I wasn’t expecting this.”

“They say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Nora stated, hands resting on her lap. “How are your men? In peak condition?”

Strain nodded. “My men are always in their prime. Mercutio informed me that we have trouble.” In the corner of his eye, he spotted a waitress dressed in a black corset. Copper curls fell around her shoulders, bouncing each time she moved head. Her eyes were round and a clear blue, protected by a pair of wide-rimmed glasses. Her arms rested on her stomach, fingers intertwined with each other, giving him the impression she was either defensive or just timid. Odd.

“That’s Tabitha, newest leader of Whitechapel. Our dear friend Snow met an untimely end.”

That was the polite way of saying ‘I killed the bastard’. Snow had never been the smartest guy around. The guy would not be missed. “You need my men for something then?”

“Yes. I trust you’ve heard about the latest kills?”

“Vaguely. Something about that young lad George.”

She nodded. “There’s an Assassin at work. Nothing confirmed yet, but the reports seem accurate enough. I want you to take you and a handful of your men and prepare to lay trap in the main streets of London. If what my men are saying is true, then we have to take the fight into the open. They won’t have anything to hide behind there.”

Strain rubbed his chin, a rare smile spreading across his face. “Assassins? Fascinating. I suppose they’ve come here to ‘fight for freedom’ or some drivel like that.” What he didn’t understand is why they even bothered trying. Sure, they might win, but victory was short-lived. The cycle would repeat, the Templars would rise once more and the Assassins would once again be on the losing side. “What happened to your men? I thought you patrols here.”

“The police patrol the streets, Robert. The Templars work behind the scenes. Whilst my men are busy fortifying the base, I need you and your men to lure this Assassin out into the open. I’ll have the local police on standby to make the arrest.” She reached a hand down into a pocket then leaned forward, placing a revolver on the table. “Take this gun.”

He cocked a brow. “You want me to shoot the Assassin in broad daylight? That’ll cause the public and the horses to panic.”

“Lead the Assassin on a chase through the wide streets towards the train station. Take the fight to the top. With any luck, you’ll be able to push the Assassin off, and the train will do the rest. A body won’t be found, and no accusations can be made.” She pushed the gun towards him. “Should you fail to carry out the task then the police will be there to finish off the job. I’ll have them guarding the route I want you to take.”

Did Nora expect him to fail? Was that why she planned to have police there? He furrowed his brows. “I’m not going to fail you, Nora. You have my word.” Bloody Nora opened her mouth to respond when the door flung open. Turning his head, he spotted two males and a female enter. The quickly placed the gun within his coat. The two males were arguing about something, though he did not care to listen. Rather, he was annoyed at their interruption – Bloody Nora was just about to say something and these scoundrels had to enter!

“… The Rooks need training.”

“They’re fine as they are, sister!” said the male with the black top hat.

The woman stopped, glanced over her shoulder and gave an exasperated sigh. “They’ve only been with us for a couple of days. How can you say they’re ‘fine as they are’?”

“I’ve tested them. I know what they’re capable of doing.”

“By throwing a few punches?” she retorted.

The other male, an Indian dressed in white robes, raised his hands and stood in between the arguing pair. “Now is not the time to argue. We came here for breakfast because your brother insisted on it.”

“Can’t do much on an empty stomach.”

The Indian nodded. “My point exactly.”

She sighed. “All right. We’ll get a quick meal but then we’re leaving.”

The trio walked up to the counter. One of the males leaned into the Indian’s ear and whispered something while the female waited to be served. Tabitha pushed a lock of hair behind her right ear and hurried over to serve them. Robert Strain studied the newcomers, and looked to see if Nora was as well. She was watching them like a hawk watching a rabbit, a troublesome frown appearing on her face. He averted his gaze.

His eyes locked on the male wearing the black top hat. “What are you looking at?” the male demanded.

“Nothing of interest,” Strain replied. These people certainly didn’t belong to his district of the Strand. He would’ve recognized them straight away, especially with that sort of clothing. If these people were trying to blend in with the public, they certainly weren’t doing a good job of it. He looked away.

Tabitha guided the trio towards a table right next to Strain and Nora. Just his luck. At least these people didn’t look like they were carrying some form of strange disease, but their presence brought him discomfort. He didn’t like being near people he didn’t know. You never knew what they were going to do.

“For fuck’s sake, no ale?” the man complained, studying the menu before him.

“We only serve alcohol at night,” Tabitha said.

“Just give me whatever is cheapest,” he said, handing the menu back.

“Make that two,” the Indian man added. The woman remained silent.

Tabitha took the menus back and walked off. A Templar leader who owned an eating area. Not a bad replacement, but he didn’t see how that would help their cause. Still, he wasn’t going to question Nora’s decision making, and trusted that she had a good reason for appointing this lady as one of the leaders of the Blighters.

“Honestly Jacob, do you have to make everything so difficult?” the woman said.

He frowned. “What am I supposed to drink, Evie? Water?”

“It’d be a nice change. You know you can’t handle your alcohol.”

“That’s not true.” Tabitha returned with some and cutlery. She laid them out on the table then left again.

“Do you remember when we were younger and father and I found you passed out on the floor one Friday night?”

The brother gave his sister a sullen look, picking up his fork. “That only happened once.”

“Once? Have you forgotten that day when you came home drunk after a fight in the streets?”

The Indian man smiled. “Or that time he challenged those other men to a drinking contest.”

Jacob growled, stabbing the table with the fork. “All right, all right, enough with the flashbacks!”

Silence then, “Is your arm feeling better?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Because if you’re not feeling up to today’s task, then you can stay at home and rest up.”

“Evie, drop it already. I’m feeling fine, okay?”

Tabitha returned a few moments later carrying the plates of food. Bread and boiled eggs. The cheapest meal on the menu. It was something often the poor had for breakfast. It was simple. Poor people living in the slums were simple beings. A perfect match really. The two males dug into their food while Evie just watched.

Robert wished they’d leave. He wanted to talk with Nora about important matters, but then these louts had to come in and spoil his meeting. It wasn’t often he had one on one time with Nora. To make matters, every couple of seconds, the brother would complain using as many obscene words as possible in one sentence. Truly, this man had no shame!

The one called Jacob didn’t even bother finishing his plate. More than half of the food on the plate still remained. The Indian did a better job of finishing up, but even he had a few leftovers. Jacob was the first to stand. Robert was reminded of a young puppy dog – youthful and full of energy. “We better get going. London is a big place to explore.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a few notes, laying them out on the table.

“All right.”

 _Thank goodness,_ thought Strain. His brief moment of happiness was cut short when Jacob bumped into him. Whether it was on purpose or the man was just hyperactive, Robert wanted to give him a stern telling off. He rose to his feet and glowered. “Filthy dog!” he snapped, raising both hands to his shirt, to dust off any ‘germs’ he might have contracted. “Watch where you are walking, you miscreant!”

The moment he spoke those words, he wished he hadn’t. Standing this close to the other male made him realize just how much smaller he was in comparison. Robert wasn’t a fighter, but as a gang leader he had to learn the basics of close and ranged combat. But this Jacob guy? He was built like a fortress with arms as thick as tree trunks.

“Jacob Frye, leave it,” Evie said.

The guy looked ready to tear him apart. Robert was sure he could easily rip his head off he wanted, but luck appeared to be on his side as the man backed down. Jacob continued to glare before finally pulling his gaze away. It didn’t stop him from purposely bumping into him again, this time hard enough to cause Robert to almost topple over. Fortunately, the table was there to catch him otherwise he would’ve found himself in an embarrassing situation.

Jacob and his companions exited the building as Robert regained his composure. He spat at the ground. People like that only proved that Templars had to exist otherwise there’d be chaos. Imagine the state of London should someone like Jacob lead? He shuddered at the thought. Drawing in a deep breath, he readjusted his hat then faced Nora. “I will inform my men at once. This Assassin… whoever they might be… They’re going to regret coming to London.”

“Remember the gun, Robert. I didn’t give it to you to kill, but to stop him or her from being a threat.” She stood up, reached a hand into her pocket again, this time pulling out a map. “This is the route I want you to take. The police force will be lying in wait and they will follow you. Don’t disappoint me, Robert. You know I don’t tolerate failure.”

The conversation was over. Nora had given him a plan to work with and he was keen to impress her. “I won’t fail you – this I promise.” He took his bow and left the building, digging a hand into his pocket to find his money pouch. But wait – what was this? No money bag? Heart rate quickening, Robert felt all his pockets, searching for the item. But there was nothing. Had he…

Jacob. The money pouch was definitely there when he had come inside the shop. So the man _had_ bumped into him on purpose! Bloody thief! He must’ve been a practiced one too because he hadn’t felt anything. Jacob _fucking_ Frye. Oh, how he was going to remember that name and damn it to the very depths of hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading this! Thanks to everyone who is reading this again (if you're still around from 2015 when this story was originally uploaded)


	11. All Hell Breaks Loose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading this! If you have read it before, welcome back!

The first couple of days under Jacob’s leadership had been interesting to say the least. Charles and the other Rooks were currently upstairs in the spare room relaxing whilst the Fryes and Henry carried on with business downstairs. The spare room was slightly larger than the others and was used mostly for storage purposes, though sometimes it was used for the sick and the passed out drunks. Now it was their room to share. The other Rooks were still uncertain about their positioning within their new gang, but Charles assured them everything was going to be fine.

“So… we are called the Rooks now?”

“Yes, Tom,” Charles said, addressing the man. Tom was the youngest within the gang – he had recently turned twenty-one – but age had not brought him self-confidence. He could muster up the courage when needed in a fight, but that was only because he had the support of his friends there to back him up. “This is our new life, and it will be a better one than the one we’ve been living thus far.”

“How can you be so sure, Charles? We’ve been in a gang for years now and nothing has improved for us.”

That was true. Gang life had always been difficult, but had become so much worse when the Templars had seized control of the city. Once there had been a time in which ten men had followed him – now he was left with four other men. The survivors of the battle that had taken place a decade ago right here within these streets. They had been caught in the crossfire of a fight between Assassins and Templars. Charles didn’t know the finer details only that he had been a victim of a war he had no part in.

Now he had every reason to be part of something greater, and Jacob Frye was leading the way. The man was quite a few years younger than himself – Charles was closing in on thirty years of age, and Jacob seemed like he was in his early twenties. Twenty-one most likely – the right age to cause trouble. “Because there’s something about Jacob Frye that makes me believe he can save us all. Can’t you see it? The hunger in his eyes.”

“But what if he damns us all?” another Rook said. “We hardly know anything about the man other than that he’s a veteran of battle. What if he’s just using us, Charles? It wouldn’t be the first time men have tried to enforce their rules upon us. It’s why we ended up on the streets in the first place.”

Charles raised his hands, calling for silence. “Trust me on this. I know a bad person when I see one, and Jacob Frye is not one who will break his promise to us. He’s young and self-assured, but I can see goodness in him that lacks in many other gang members. He’s what we need if we are to retake these streets and make a life for ourselves here.”

“That may be so, Charles, but what about the alternate life? What if it all goes terribly wrong for us?” The Rooks were all sitting on their beds, looking at him with wide eyes. They probably had hundreds of questions waiting to be answered though he knew his friends knew better than to directly question their new leader. “I’m worried, Charles. It’s not like we were really given much of an option.”

True. Jacob had a natural talent with words. He could make it sound like you had a choice when in reality it wasn’t. “Just follow my lead and give your support to Jacob Frye and his sister. That is all I ask of you now – that you show our new leaders the same loyalty you’ve shown towards me. Together, we can make this work.” The Rooks seemed satisfied with his response and turned away from him to make themselves comfortable on their beds. Rather than sleep himself, he decided to stay awake and think instead, his mind troubled. What if the Rooks were right? What if this was just the beginning of their self-destruction?

.

Breakfast was short-lived, but they had found exactly what they needed – important information. It was a big gamble – Henry argued against it, and Evie thought it was too dangerous – but Jacob ignored them both and followed his gut instinct. Bumping into that man at The Falcon’s Nest was planned. It allowed him to get close enough to reach a hand into a pocket. All those long years stealing coins from his opponents had paid off at last.

“Robert Strain, leader of the Strand,” Jacob read. The coin in the pocket didn’t interest him – it was the badge that caught his attention. He threw it aside onto the floor. “Who keeps a fucking badge with their name on it?”

“That woman there with him… Do you think she was Bloody Nora?” Evie said, bending over to pick up the badge. She straightened then added, “If yes, then Bloody Nora must suspect us. She’s summoning her fellow leaders.”

“For what?” Jacob said.

“To stop us, of course. She’s suspicious, but nothing has been confirmed yet. The Templars she sent to take over the bar never returned… We made sure of that. I doubt the police would say anything either – why would they care a drunken man shot himself?”

Jacob grabbed a mug of ale and raised it in the air. “We take him out as soon as possible.”

“We can’t fight him in broad daylight. That’ll just draw unwanted attention from the public,” Evie debated, looking towards Henry for support. Henry raised his hands and kept his lips sealed. “We want the public to feel we are saving them. We don’t want them to think we’re the enemy.”

“Kill the bastard, then hide the body. I say we throw it in the water. No one is ever going to check.”

“What are we going to hide the body with?”

“Steal a carriage,” he answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Dump the body in there. Cover it up then drive.” Evie brought a hand to her forehead. For a moment, he felt a pang of sympathy for her. Evie tried so hard to make these plans and ensure they were followed through correctly without mistake. No wonder she looked so stressed right now. “Come on, Evie. We’ve got this. I’ll track him down.”

“No. I’ll handle him.”

Jacob rolled his eyes. “This isn’t the time for planning, Evie. If that was Bloody Nora he was seeing then they have a plan in motion. If we do things your way, he’ll be dead at the end of the week.” He pointed to himself. “We do things my way, and he’ll be dead tomorrow.”

“And there’ll undoubtedly be a bloody path of destruction. I want to avoid as much bloodshed as possible.”

He pouted. “You’re no fun, sister.”

“You can’t take the Rooks with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because they clearly aren’t ready for something of this scale - they haven’t had a day’s training yet. We need to take the safest, but most effective option,” Evie debated. “We track Robert to his base. When it’s night, we’ll strike. It’ll be clean. No mess.”

Jacob looked at Henry. Surprisingly, the man hadn’t said anything, but then again they hadn’t given him much opportunity to speak. “What do you say, Henry? Convince my sister that her idea is not the best plan for this.”

Henry glanced in his direction first. “Both of you have raised fair points. Robert Strain needs to be stopped as soon as possible, but not using your preferred technique, Jacob.” He then turned his attention towards Evie, held her gaze for a few moments then added, “This isn’t going to be as simple as you both think – Robert Strain is a high ranking Templar. I’m sure he has a few tricks up his sleeve. We should treat this with caution. Who knows what the man is capable of doing?”

Slamming his drink on the table, Jacob sprung to his feet, glowering. “Of course you’d side with Evie!” Why must everyone always see the negatives in his plans? It was almost as if they purposefully overlooked the positives just so they had something to debate.

“Jacob-”

“I’m not listening to another word.” He stormed towards the kitchen area, not sparing a glance at his sister and Henry. Marching up the stairs, he turned to the left, stopping at the door of the Charles and the other Rooks. He knocked several times. The door opened after the fifth knock. A tired Charles looked at him. 

“What’s the matter, boss?”

“We’re going out. Get the boys ready.”

“Where are we going?” Charles asked his eyes red. The poor man looked as if he hadn’t slept in a few nights.

“The Thistle’s Crown.” Jacob pointed to the window. “We’re going through there.”

Charles’s eyes widened. “Through a window? Why can’t we just walk down the stairs?”

“Because I said so?” Jacob countered. Charles fell silent and nodded. The other Rooks lined up behind Charles, all peering at Jacob with curious expressions. “We’re leaving. Now,” he almost growled. That prompted the Rooks to move. Together, they walked over to the window. Jacob pushed it open and looked down. The drop wasn’t too bad. There was a haystack conveniently placed directly below.

“That’s a long way down, boss,” Charles said, sticking his head out the window, peering down below.

Jacob sighed. “I’ll go first, and I’ll catch you.” Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. Just a two storey drop. Jumping off the Big Ben on the other hand… Now that was a real test of courage. “Just climb down. There are few ledges here you can hold onto,” Jacob explained, climbing up onto the window’s ledge.

“But-”

Too late. Jacob jumped off the ledge, falling right into the haystack. He uttered a few curses, spitting a few pieces of hay out of his mouth. Bloody haystacks. At least this one wasn’t covering up a pile of horse faeces. That had been a rather unpleasant experience. Scrambling to his feet, he dusted himself off then glanced upwards. His men were slowly climbing down, clinging onto the ledges for dear life. He had to give them credit – at least they trying.

“Come on, lads. You’re almost there.” Eventually, they reached the bottom. Two of the Rooks lost their footing and plummeted into the haystack. The other three looked relieved they hadn’t fallen. He grinned. “See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

“Why are we going back to the Thistle’s Crown?” Charles said.

“And why aren’t Henry and Evie coming along?” another Rook said.

“I promised you lads payment. We’re going to claim it. You do want to be rewarded, right?”

The Rooks nodded. “Yes, boss,” they chorused.

“As for Henry and Evie, they decided to give tonight a miss. They don’t like drinking, you see. Makes no sense for them to come along. They’d only spoil the fun. Now quit the questions and just keep walking.” The boys fell silent. Tonight was the night.

.

Jacob Frye. It was an easy name to remember and an easy face to recall as well, especially with the sideburns and the ridiculous top hat. The man was going to pay for the little stunt he pulled at the Falcon’s Nest, and he, Robert Strain, would have the honour. He climbed aboard a carriage, followed by three of his men.

“What’s the plan, boss?”

Ah yes, the glorious game plan to shut down the suspected Assassin. It made a lot of sense. Assassins liked stealth and sticking to shady areas so they could make their kills undetected, but Nora’s plan removed that game plan. Lure the Assassin out into the open right where the public could see them. He or she wouldn’t be able to do anything without risking the lives of the public. Let the common people see the Assassin for what he truly was – a murderous brute. Not some saintly freedom fighter like the legends often depicted them as.

What was it? The three tenants of some silly Creed? He couldn’t recall the finer details, but he knew there was something about ‘not hurting the innocents’ in there somewhere. Expose the Assassin’s weaknesses and they could be defeated like any common man. “We are going to catch ourselves an Assassin.”

“An Assassin? But boss, they’re stealth masters. How are we going to find one out here in the open?”

Robert brought a hand to his face and tried not to strike the man. Fools. Why must he always be surrounded by idiots? “We are laying an ambush for the Assassin. We’ll lure the Assassin out here in the open, and let them think they’ve won then we strike. The police force will have our backs.”

The man’s face brightened. “Oh, I see! But what if the Assassin doesn’t come out to play?”

That could be a bit of a problem. The Assassin obviously knew there were Templars about otherwise they would not be here causing problems. “The Assassin will come, I’m sure of it. We’ll encourage their participation. Assassins stand up for the weak, don’t they? What say you and the men create a little bit of havoc here in the main street? If the Assassin truly wants to help, they will come after us.”

“What should we do? Harass the locals?”

Hunt down some more filth and round them up. That was his favourite pastime – tracking down the poor and driving them off the streets. “We will start up the Hunt. Filth can be found anywhere in this area.”

His Templar companion rubbed his palms together. The Hunt was the highlight of the Blighter life in Robert’s part of the city. Once a week, they’d search the district for more people to round up. Factories weren’t going to run by themselves after all. Many of them tried to resist, but Robert and his Templars put them back in their places easily.

“Which factory, sir?”

“Steelworks factory in the Strand. I lost a few men to an incident a fortnight ago. We’ll round up some boys and convince them they will be paid well,” Robert explained. Well, pay them enough money to survive the week. After all, they didn’t deserve anything more. “Work hard and receive your portion.” The brilliance of capitalism. Some argued it was evil, but he scoffed in their faces.

The incident had been a particularly nasty one though the fault rested on the fools who were trying to escape. According to one of his higher ranked Templars, the men tried to rebel against his authority, and tried to use the machinery against the supervisors. That had failed, resulting in the deaths of about six men. Needless to say, Bloody Nora wasn’t too impressed and almost had him killed. Fortunately, the man lived – he was able to prove himself deserving of another chance.

“So where do we take them? To the main street of London?”

Robert reached into his pocket, pulling out the same map Nora had given him. He unfolded it, laid it out on his lap, and pointed. Nora had drawn black circles in places she wanted the Templars to be hiding in carriages, and black triangles for the police. She had also drawn a black line leading through the centre right to the King’s Cross station. This was the route she wanted them to take. It was the most popular area in the city’s central.

“It’ll need to be done where the Assassin can see us,” Robert said. He followed the line with a finger, stopping at the train station. “The police will join in the chase the moment we get onto the train, but up until the point, we’ll be on our own. I hope your carriage driving skills are up to standard. We want as little carnage as possible.”

The Templar peered over and pointed to the bridge over the river. “What if the Assassin tries to kill us? We’ll have to defend ourselves.”

“Don’t fight back until this Assassin makes the first move. Remember, the locals will be out and about, carrying on their daily business. We don’t want them to think we started it – let them think the worst of the Assassin, and the people will flock to us for help. Don’t allow this Assassin to come to close,” Robert added, tapping his left wrist. “Or else you’ll find the Assassin’s favoured weapon in your body.”

“The trains only leave every thirty minutes. We don’t want to be stuck around waiting for ages with the Assassin hot on our trail.”

Robert nodded. “Indeed. That is why you are going to do what you can to give us some extra time encase we do have to wait a little bit longer, but we must stick to the route otherwise the police won’t be able to find us.”

He nodded. There was a pause then, “What if this Assassin succeeds?”

“Think positive, boy.”

“Well, it’s just that I’ve been reading the history books about the Assassins in other eras and they succeeded, and I was worried that-”

Robert Strain bopped him over the head with his right fist. “We are much more advanced than our brothers and sisters of the past. We will not fail. The Blighters will not fail. The Templar Order will not fail.” And should by some miracle the Assassin succeeded, then the Templar Order would just rise up from the ashes anyway and history would repeat itself. “Now calm your fears. You’ll need nerves of steel for what tomorrow will bring.”

.

There was laughter coming from within the tavern. The boys were back for another round of drinks it seemed, and that worked well in Jacob’s favour. Tonight they would have a chance to redeem themselves and swear their allegiance to a far more noble cause. He approached the door then stopped, turning around to face Charles. “Hold this,” he said, removing his hat, thrusting it into Charles’s hands. The man was his favoured hat-holding lackey. Whoever held it was temporarily in charge. “Don’t make any movements when we’re inside. I’m going to show you lads how it’s done.”

Time to test out the brass knuckles Paul had gifted to him. He pulled them out, and examined them, figuring out how to equip them correctly. Slip the hand through the oval hole and slide the fingers through the other four? It sounded logical. It was a bit of tight squeeze for the wrist, but he managed to get his hands through.

“Whatever you say, boss.”

Pulling his hood over his head, Jacob strolled up towards the door then flung it open. Laughter ceased immediately. The same eight men were present once more, all red in the face from too much drink. Jacob grabbed a chair, dragged it into the middle, the spindle facing away from him. He sat down, resting his arms on the rail top rail, keeping his expression neutral.

“Look what we have here, boys. It’s the same lad who was here earlier in the week. Did you change your mind and come back?” Thomas said, his words earning bursts of laughter from his mates. “We don’t take kindly to unwanted guests nor threats.”

“I’ve returned to make amends. I want to make you an offer,” Jacob started. “I want you to join me. Join the Rooks.”

“Rooks? What kind of bloody name is that?” a man scorned. A few Templars sniggered.

“This ain’t the slums boy,” Thomas said. “Now why don’t you turn around and walk back to whatever hole you crawled out of otherwise we’ll have to force you out.”

Jacob didn’t move a muscle. He looked at Thomas, his gaze unflinching. The man looked to one of his friends then jerked his head in Jacob’s direction. _Ah, now the fun begins,_ Jacob thought. A man wearing a red coat came towards him, fists swinging. Jacob leaned to the side narrowly avoiding the punch then stood up. He and grabbed the man’s arm and threw him to the ground.

The next man charged. Jacob picked up the chair with both hands, and raised it above his head, only to bring it crashing down on the approaching opponent. There was a sickening crack as the chair’s spindle made contact with his back, splitting into halves. The man dropped to the floor, unconscious. Picking up the remains of the spindle, Jacob wielded it like a sword against his next opponent.

“Take him down, you fools!”

The third man didn’t even have a chance to land a blow, falling to the ground, as Jacob drove the piece of wood into his hamstring. An anguished cry filled the air, as the man staggered backwards, hands clasped around the wooden piece, trying to rip it out. Two more men charged. He punched one guy in the face then spun around, driving his other fist into the man’s jaw. Two more men knocked out.

“Get him, you idiots!” Thomas shrieked. He grabbed another man by the shirt and shoved him forward right into Jacob’s path. Jacob easily pushed him aside. Thomas took a few steps backwards into the bench. Hands flung down to his pocket then he brought them forward, grasping the hilt of a small knife.

Thomas slashed the knife at him. Jacob drew his head back, missing the tip of the blade by a mere inch. Infuriated, Jacob brought his head forward, forehead smashing into Thomas’s nose. The man dropped the knife, his right hand moving to the injured flesh. His left hand dug into the inside pocket of his brown coat. Seconds later, he pulled out a gun and fired. Fortunately, he missed.

Jacob grabbed his arm then shoved him into counter, slamming his face down into the bench. He dragged him along the bench, ensuring Thomas’s face made contact with as many glasses and items as possible. He grabbed him by the nape of the neck and shoved him to the ground. The surrounding men all took a few steps back, frightened.

Thomas tried to crawl away, hands reaching for an item to defend himself with. Jacob sauntered over, stood over him then grabbed the man by the nape of the neck again, flipping him over onto his back. “You fucking bastard.” He drew back a fist and punched him in the right cheekbone. “Let’s make this a fair fight, shall we?” He raised his left arm, activated his hidden blade, and prepared to drive it through his heart.

“Uh… Mr. Frye! Boss! Can we… uh, split the payment?”

Panting, Jacob glanced up. Bloody Rooks. He looked around him. The Templars were standing as far back as they could, expressions of shock written on their faces. He then remembered the hidden blade. Shit. Now everyone including his Rooks knew just what he was. Deactivating the blade, he reached a hand down into Thomas’s pocket, fingers brushing up against a stash of notes. He shoved it into Thomas’s mouth then rose to his feet. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Evie was going to murder him when she found out.

 _Look confident,_ he told himself. _Act normal._ He walked past the Templars and the Rooks in the bar, trying to keep a vacant expression. He was so royally fucked now. All he could think of right now was the repeated use of the word ‘fuck’. Evie was never going to trust him to handle a task on his own without supervision. “Take as much as you want – I don’t care how you choose to use it,” he said to Charles before walking out of the bar.

“I’m… I’m going to join the Rooks,” a Templar said.

“Yeah, me too. I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” said another.

It was supposed to be a night worth celebrating considering the Rooks had just gained a few more members, but how could he celebrate now knowing what awaited him at home? He swore again. Fucking hell.


	12. Fire and Ice

_LONDON DAILY POST (Evening Edition)_

_The Weather Overcast, Rain Imminent_

_Vol. XCII No. CCCXIII, Friday Evening, July 20, 1869, 10 pages_

_“Bar Brawl Claims the Lives of Two Men”_

_Police are investigating a horrific scene at The Thistle’s Crown after the bodies of two young men were found. What started off as a social gathering for a close group of friends ended in tragedy as the popular tavern came under attack. Survivors described the male offender as a ‘brash, brutal and reckless killer’ who single-handedly defeated more than five men._

_“He just came in here and started fighting us!” a witness exclaimed._

_“We didn’t even know who he was!” another witness says._

_This brutal killing is the third incident to occur this month. Earlier in July, two missing reports were filed for two men, George (20) and Harry (19). Both these men were reported missing after failing to show up for work. This is the first killing spree London has faced since the 1850’s, and police believe more will come._

_“An unfortunate tragedy has occurred here today. I give my blessings to the family and friends of these unfortunate men. I swear on behalf the police force that we will work day and night to find this murderer and bring him to justice to face his crimes,” says Chief of the London Police, Isaac Rico (37)._

_The victims were killed-_ “Hey, I was reading that!” Jacob snapped, as his sister snatched the paper out of his hands, throwing it down on the table. He tried to make a grab for it, but his sister moved it out of the way, and stood in front, guarding it. “What’s the big deal? I had nothing to do with it!” he lied.

She crossed her arms over her chest, a look of disappointment in her eyes. “Don’t lie to me, Jacob Frye. I know you had something to do with this.”

“It could’ve been anyone.”

Evie moved aside and turned to the paper. She flipped to the next page where there was an image of a man on the ground with a wooden piece sticking out of his leg. The name Peter Miles (18) was written beneath it. “Doctors had to amputate his leg, but something went wrong, and the man bled to death on the floor of the bar.” She then drew his attention to the next picture which was a sketch of a man who had been hit over the head with a chair. “This one had his back broken. He’s crippled for life, and will probably die within the next few days.”

“Anyone could’ve done that.”

She picked up the paper. “Harry Styles (19) is reported to have sustained a broken jaw during the conflict. The young adult explained it in writing that he had been hit with knuckles made of steel. If that doesn’t convince you then perhaps this image will.” She turned the page again, pointing a finger at a sketch of a man with a blade sticking out beneath his left wrist, preparing to strike a wounded man on the floor.

His stomach muscles tightened, a slow bubbling pit of fury beginning to rise. Who the fuck had ratted him out? Thomas? “I should’ve fucking killed the motherfucking asshole…” he muttered darkly. Now the entire community would be aware that there was a serial killer on the loose. People knew what he looked like as well, or at least were aware of his basic clothing attire.

“After everything that has happened!” she said, dropping the paper on the table. He grabbed it, tore out the first page, scrunched it up into a ball and threw it on the floor. “You still insist on charging into these fights as if you have nothing to lose!”

Evie rarely expressed anger – most of the time all she had to do was look deep in his eyes and give him the look that read, ‘I’m disappointed in you’ and that would be enough. But now? She was unlike herself, looking at him with genuine anger, her emerald eyes alight.

Defensive, his mouth curled. “This doesn’t change anything. So a few Templars died – who cares? They’re Templars, Evie. They’re not innocent.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to charge into taverns and pick fights with people just because you want to!”

Thankfully, there were no Rooks in sight. Henry wasn’t present either. Paul couldn’t be seen and Clara was probably still sleeping. It was just him and his sister in an empty bar arguing at the break of dawn. What a fine way to start the day. “At least I’m doing something for our cause!” he retorted, temper flaring. He surged to his feet and scowled. “I’m getting results! I’m recruiting people! You sit here and do nothing!”

Evie’s bottom lip curled. He thought she was going to shout back, but she was better than that. “I’m trying to keep us organized, Jacob,” she added in a gentler tone, anger gone. “We were going to do this one step at a time together as a team.” She pointed to the crunched up paper on the floor and added, “But this changes everything.”

“So the Templars know there’s an Assassin! They still can’t confirm that it’s me.”

“You’re missing the point. They are going to do everything in their power to find you.”

“Then let them come!” he snarled. “I’m not afraid of Templars.”

Closing her eyes, Evie brought her hands to her head and rubbed her temples. “What comes next, brother? An all out gang-warfare in the open streets? Will your actions draw attention to our Rooks? Who will next pay the price of this conflict?”

“No man or woman serving under our banner will die.”

She tilted her head to the side. “There are always casualties in war, brother. You’ve made the first move, and the Templars are going to retaliate. I hope you are proud of yourself.”

The disappoint cut through him like a hidden blade. It was even worse than being shot. Gun wounds healed in a few days, but words forever remained. He tried to think of something that would help settle the situation and make his sister feel less stressed, but instead he reacted as he usually did – with anger. “Perhaps if you weren’t so intent on treating me like a child then none of this would be happening!” he blurted, accusing. He pointed a finger at her face and walked towards her, his scowl deepening.

“Excuse me?”

He exploded in anger. “You’re always trying to control me! Ever since we were children, you were always trying to boss me around! Was it because you were able to master the skills quicker? Or was it because you thought I was too stupid to know the difference between right or wrong?!” It was cold inside and out, but he felt as if he had been standing near a fireplace for hours.

“Do you know the difference, brother? Do you know what the difference between right and wrong is because lately you’ve been pushing the boundaries.”

He threw both hands up in the air. “What? The fucking Creed? You’re going to bring this up now?” He forced a laugh, drew in a deep breath then continued. “Hide in plain sight? To run like a dog with its tail between its legs from conflict?”

“To not draw attention to ourselves to avoid situations like this,” she defended. “It has nothing to do with running away.”

“And what’s the other tenant… Don’t compromise the Brotherhood. We don’t have a Brotherhood, Evie! We’re not bound to irrelevant rules!” He picked up the remaining pieces of paper, rolled it up into a tube and shook it at her face. “We do what we want, take whatever we want whenever we need it. That is how it should be!”

“You’re going to bring war on all our heads, Jacob! Don’t you see that? We’re all in danger – not just you,” she pleaded. “If you keep carrying on the way you do this will only end in blood.”

He was past the point of caring now. The Templars knew who there was an Assassin on the loose and he was going to end them before they could become a real threat. “I’m not going to stop, Evie. I will _never_ surrender. _Unlike_ you, I choose not to be bound by some long dead Creed. It’d be better if you did the same.” He pushed past her, keeping his eyes averted, as to not meet with her own, and made his way to the entrance.

“Where are you going?”

He stopped at the doorway and glanced over his shoulder. “To kill a man called Robert fucking Strain. Don’t try to stop me.” Drawing in a quivering breath, Jacob stormed out of the tavern, his blood boiling. It always came back to the fucking Creed and its lousy tradition! He pushed past a couple of local people, ignoring their gestures and stares then stopped by a street light. With a frustrated growl, he slammed a fist against it. It wasn’t much, but hitting things or people brought him some respite.

“Crawled out of the wrong side of bed, did you?” a deep voice spoke.

Jacob glanced up, and spotted two males standing before him. One wore a green coat and a top hat, and other man wore a simple white buttoned up shirt and brown pants. “If you’re here for a few drinks then you’ve come to the wrong place. The mood is sour today,” Jacob replied, hoping the two men would leave.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” the man with the green coat said.

Jacob gritted his teeth. “What the fuck do you want?”

The man dug a hand down into his pocket. He pulled his hand out several seconds later, fingers clasped around a roll of newspaper. Jacob was half-tempted to snatch it out of the man’s hand and smack him over the head with it. How many times today would he have to see the bold blaring headline? The man unfurled it and drew Jacob’s attention to the front page. “I’ve gotta say, I’m impressed with your work. Very efficient,” he drawled.

He pulled away from the street light, feeling the blood pounding in his head. He was still pissed at Evie for her words, and now his path was blocked by these two men. Normally, he wouldn’t turn down good company and an opportunity to make some friends, but right now he just wanted to be alone. “Cheers, now fuck off.”

The two men remained in their place. The top hat-wearing man chuckled, folded the paper back into a roll and put it away. He took a few steps closer, his smirk widening. “Charming response. Look, I’m just giving you a compliment. Taking down those Templars… I say good riddance to those creeps. It’s about time someone stood up for the working class.”

Jacob frowned, tilting his head to one side, suspicions rising as he took a closer look at these men. He then remembered where he had seen these faces before. They had been at the tavern the previous week as spectators of his fight with John. “You’ve been following me.”

“I wanted to meet with you in person after that showcase of skill in the bar earlier this week,” the man drawled. “Very impressive. I’ve seen a lot of fights myself before, but none as riveting as that performance. I think you and I would make good friends.” He extended a hand. “My name is Abraham, and this is Tiny.”

Abraham and Tiny. The names sounded familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite recall all the details. Charles had mentioned them earlier on – something about two ex-criminals or something like that. “Jacob Frye,” he replied, accepting the handshake, anger diminishing. “You lads not a fan of Templars then.”

“If we were, we would’ve reported you to the police,” Abraham replied, pulling his hand away. “We could sit down at a bar somewhere and trade stories over a couple of drinks if you’re interested. I might know some things that could be of some use to you.”

“That sounds all well and good, but I have places to be right now.” He prepared to carry on walking down the street, but Abraham and Tiny stepped out in front of his path. He held back a growl. “You want to help my cause? Step aside and enter through the doors of this tavern instead. Ask for a woman called Evie. She can fill you in with the details.”

He pushed past them, and this time they let him walk. He felt their eyes staring into his back, no doubt they had a lot of questions that needed answering, but killing Robert Strain was far more important. Blood was going to be spilled, and anyone else who dared to stand in his way, would become the first person to receive the end of his new melee weapon.

.

Evie watched her brother storm out the building, slamming the door as hard as he could. A voice inside her head told her to go after him and try to change his mind, but her heart told her it was better this way. Her brother was angry – probably at himself for last night (though he would never admit that) – and arguing with her first thing in the morning did nothing to lift his mood.

She looked down at the paper again. The first page was now a crunched up ball on the floor. At least he hadn’t torn it to shreds nor used it as a weapon to hit something or someone. Sometimes he had a habit of breaking things when he was angry though she supposed he had Robert’s face to break instead. She sat down. The Templars now knew there was an Assassin in town. Plans had to change to accommodate that. She wondered how much they actually knew.

“Is it safe to come out now?”

She turned to the bartender who had spent the entire time crouching behind the counter listening in. Just what was he going to think now? Would he regret welcoming the Assassins into his humble home? ‘I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Evie replied.

He walked around the counter and came to sit by her side. “I’ve heard worse.”

“My brother… He’s… Difficult.” Difficult was an understatement. He could be a nightmare at times, especially when in one of his foul moods.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s normal for siblings to fight. Don’t beat yourself up over it,” he said, before withdrawing his arm.

“I think he resents me deep down.” Perhaps he still felt the same hurt from all those long years ago when Evie had gained the ranking of Master Assassin. Jacob hadn’t even come close. “He never brings it up, but I know he still hasn’t recovered from the day I became a Master Assassin.” Her father had been so proud, while her brother had arrived late, looking as if he had been in a fight again.

Paul looked down at the paper and pulled it towards him. “First page is missing?”

“There it is,” she said, gesturing to the ball on the floor.

He glanced down and studied it for a moment then lifted his gaze. “If I had known this was going to happen, I would never have given him the brass knuckles…”

Brass knuckles? That was news to her. “What are they?”

Paul looked equally surprised. “He never told you?”

“No?”

“Yesterday morning I talked to your brother. I told him about our city and what the Templars had done in the absence of your Brotherhood. He told me why the both of you had come here to London. I found his reasons to be noble and deserving of an old Brotherhood artefact,” Paul said. “I should be apologizing. I gave him the weapons.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not your fault. He would’ve found something else to use against them, but don’t doubt my brother’s intentions – it may be hard to see through his cocky façade, but he does care about the people here.”

“You have a lot of faith in him.”

“I believe he can still be saved.” Her thoughts drifted to the last conversation she had with her father, Ethan Frye.

_“Evie, promise me this. Never lose track of what you are fighting for,” her father said, clasping his fingers around her own, as the man took his final breaths._

_Tears rolled down her cheeks. For the past few hours, she sat at his bedside, tending to his needs. He didn’t ask for much – just for her to be there to listen. “I will never turn my back on the Creed, father. I will rebuild the British Brotherhood.”_

_The man coughed. Flecks of blood covered his palm. “The Brotherhood…” He mustered up a weak smile, blood covering his lower lip. He was so pale, and so drained of energy. It broke her heart to see him like this. “…Your aspirations are noble.”_

_For days he had been stuck in this bed. It had started out as a common cold then turned into something far worse. Medicines were given, but none seemed to have any effect on his health. He claimed he was paying for his own sins and that he deserved death. “I can make it happen. There’ll be a day where the Brotherhood rises up from the ashes, and I will be its leader.”_

_He smiled again. “…I am certain you will… You are my greatest accomplishment. I know you will not fail me.” His smile faltered, as the coughed up more blood. “…Where is your brother?”_

_Jacob had decided to take the afternoon off and cause trouble in the streets. He didn’t want to see father, especially since the last time they had met it had ended in an argument. “…Stopping Templars,” she said. It was a lie, but she didn’t want her father to remember her brother in a negative light. Often, she lied to her brother as well to repair the relationship he had with their father, hoping that someday they’d reunite and put aside their differences. That day didn’t look like it would ever come._

_A single tear drop trailed down his cheek. Evie brought her thumb forward and caught it, then jumped, startled, when her father grabbed her arm. “…You need to save him, Evie. Only you can do it. Succeed where I failed.”_

_“What do you mean?” Perhaps he was running a fever again? “I will always be there to support my brother no matter what.”_

_Her father’s fingers tightened around her hand, his grip surprisingly strong considering his health. “I know you’ve been lying to me, Evie. I know you’ll always defend your brother because you care about him, even if deep down you know that he is wrong. Perhaps if my convictions were as strong as yours then maybe…” He coughed again, as another tear rolled down his face. “Your love for your brother will save him… I know you’ll make the right decision even if it breaks your heart. Succeed where I failed.”_

“Evie?”

Evie pulled herself out of trance and glanced sideways. Paul was watching her, eyebrow raised, concerned. “Jacob and our father never had a strong relationship,” Evie said softly. “Jacob found our father’s ways to be too strict and restrictive so he ran. He never grew to understand the Creed, despite our father’s efforts to help steer him in the right direction. He’s always lived by his own rules because there aren’t any set ones to follow in gang fight.”

“Your father was disappointed?”

“Jacob’s rejection of him broke his heart,” she said. “His condition would’ve improved but he refused to help himself. He didn’t want to take the medications – he blamed himself for my brother’s behaviour and it killed him.” She looked down, hands resting on her lap. Her hands were clutching her knees.

“He died of shame?”

“That’s what I believe,” she said then paused, biting her bottom lip to stop it from trembling. “Perhaps it would help if I shared a little of our upbringing with you. Mother died during our birth, and father raised us to be Assassins to keep us strong. We both swore upon the oath, but my brother soon turned his back.”

Paul furrowed his brows and leaned forward, elbows resting on the edge of the table. “Do you know why?”

She pulled her gaze away for a brief moment to look out the window. The skies were a threatening grey. Bleak weather. She hoped that wasn’t an omen for today’s events. With a sigh, she turned back to Paul again. “As I mentioned earlier, my brother didn’t take kindly to father’s teachings so he ran to the streets and sought comfort there from the others that were also lost. He claimed he found a kinship with the men that he could not find at home. Of course, father disproved when he learned Jacob was holding tournaments in the alley ways. He called him ‘his greatest disappointment’.”

She remembered it all too clearly as if it had happened yesterday. Her brother had come home one Friday afternoon with a vertical cut on his right eyebrow, blood trailing down the open wound, a smirk plastered on his face. “Go on.”

“Jacob told us of his victory and shared with us his prize money, but father was not impressed. He forbade Jacob from leaving the house, believing his new friends were corrupting his mind.” She forced a dry laugh. “The following morning Jacob stormed up to our father, looked him square in the eyes, and told him that he was leaving and was never coming back. He said he found another family on the streets and that they welcomed him with open arms.” She brought a hand to her right eye and wiped it with the back of her right hand.

_“I’m not returning, father. This is the last you’ll see of me,” Jacob said. The wound on his right eyebrow had now clotted, but the scar would forever remain. A permanent reminder of this day. “I have a new place to call home and they don’t scorn me like you do. At least they appreciate my talents.”_

_“You’re not leaving this home. You are my son, and I forbid you to leave.”_

_Jacob glared. “You do not rule over me, father. Not anymore. I’m strong enough now to run free without your help.”_

_A look of pain flashed in their father’s eyes, but Jacob didn’t seem to notice. “Think about what you’re doing, Jacob – you choose to walk out that door and you walk out on your family. The men you call friends will never replace us.”_

_“Maybe one day you’ll learn to appreciate me for who I am and not what you want me to.” Jacob turned his back and headed towards the door. Before exiting, he added, “But I will never forgive you – you’re dead to me.”_

“I’m sorry.”

“Once there was a time our family was united as one. We swore to one another that family was everything and we would never turn our backs on each other. Always and forever,” she said softly, a temporarily smile crossing her face. Why was it that the memories that hurt the most were the ones easiest to remember? “Jacob’s leaving broke my father – he couldn’t live with what he had done. He believed he had helped foster the beast within my brother, instead of taming it.” She looked up, meeting his gaze. “My brother doesn’t know our father’s true cause of death - and it should stay that way.”

Paul coked his head to the side, brows furrowed. “But why not tell him the truth? If you want to protect him, shouldn’t he know?”

She shook her head. A loose strand of hair fell in front of her right eye. “Jacob struggled to cope with father’s passing. Despite his anger towards the man, he loved father deep down, even if he didn’t admit it openly. If he knew our father died because of shame, what do you think will happen then?” He was already pushing the boundaries. She didn’t need to give him a reason to overstep that boundary because once that happened there would be no return. “Please, don’t tell my brother. He’s broken, but not beyond repair. If he learns about this…” She trailed off, pushing the loose strand back behind her ear.

“I understand.”

She mustered up a smile, relieved. “I never meant to bring this mess under your roof, but I will do what I can to fix it.”

“You needn’t worry about me – I’m used to mess. This is a bar, remember?” He smiled. “Now, keep your chin up, and do what needs to be done.”


	13. Reign of Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title chapter so it will be an eventful one!

Concentrating was proving to be more difficult than usual. He blamed Evie for that. The recent argument with her had left him boiling with fury. She supported his plan to retake London, and yet it sounded like she was going back on it now, as if she regretted it! He sprinted across the roof top and made a running leap to the other side, but failed to make landing correctly.

He stumbled backwards, and almost fell over the side, but managed to grip the ledge with both hands in time. Bloody Evie. With a grunt, he forced himself up over the ledge, clambered to his feet, and walked to the opposite side. It wasn’t often he came up here to see the sights of London. He preferred to be the ground – that’s where all the action took place. Still, being up here allowed him the best possible view of London. Finding Robert Strain wasn’t going to be an easy task.

Finding the Templar wasn’t his only problem. The newspaper had noted the weather was going to take a turn for the worst, and glancing upwards now, he could see they were right. Dark menacing clouds stretched right across to the horizon, blocking out the rays of the sun, covering any patch of blue sky. He heard the faint rumble of thunder in the distance, and even spotted a flash of lightning to the right where the clouds were darkest.

“Fucking perfect,” he muttered. A chase in the rain meant sliding carriages which could make him lose sight of the enemy much easier. On the bright side, he hoped that would mean less people crowding the streets. Harming the innocent was something he avoided – but if people dared to get in his way… Well they would only have themselves to blame for what came next.

He searched the streets. People were starting to take notice of the weather and were heading inside to take cover. Rain wasn’t rare to London by any means, but traipsing around in a storm was dangerous. Though stories of people being struck by lightning were rare, it did happen, and he didn’t want to include himself in the count. However, if it meant killing Strain, it was worth the risk.

“Robert Strain, show yourself,” he said, looking both left and right, searching for a glimpse of the foolish pompous brat. He shouldn’t be too difficult to find – how many people walked around the streets looking that ridiculous?

“On your knees, now!”

His head jerked to the right. Down below in an open busy street, he spotted a three Templars interrogating a couple of beggars. Rising to his feet, he walked over to the ledge where a perch stuck out. With caution, he stepped onto it and edged over to the end. There was a haystack down below. Convenient yet again.

One of the beggars was slapped in the face. A Templar came forward and forced the beggar onto their legs, and shoved him up against a carriage. A public beating session? He focused his attention on the carriage itself. Keen senses told him the man seating on the right side was Robert Strain. Now he had a target to direct his anger at.

He leaned forward over the edge then jumped down, plummeting to the ground, like a falcon making a dive. He landed in the haystack, scaring a few locals nearby then climbed out. At least there was no horse manure hidden this stack either. Removing strands of hay off his clothing, he strode over towards the carriage waiting line.

Fortunately, there was a carriage waiting already. He looked up. There was a blonde female in the driver’s seat. Her hazel eyes met with his. “Where would you like to go, sir?” she said in a bored manner, as if she had asked that for the tenth time this morning.

“Nowhere with you,” he said, jumping up into the carriage.

“Hey! You can’t just climb in! You need to pay!” she shrieked, climbing to her feet, reaching for her red purse.

Jacob rolled his eyes. Seriously? What was she going to do with that? Whack him over the head? “Listen lady, I’m goin’ to borrow your carriage for awhile, all right?”

That was the polite term for it. He had no intentions of returning it. Her jaw dropped in shock. She then realized what his words meant and sprung into action, swinging her purse in random directions, yelling obscenities. She even tried to kick him below the belt. For that, he punched her in the face. He then shoved her out of the carriage for good measure, making sure to keep the purse for himself. He’d use it to reward the lads later.

He sat down and grabbed the reins. He had driven a carriage once before in his lifetime when he was racing in the streets against some of his friends. It had been many years since then but surely the basics were the same? He jerked the reins hard. The horses screamed and bolted forward. The Templars up ahead climbed back into their carriages and moved. The chase was on.

“Get out of my way!” he bellowed at a woman crossing the road. She turned to face him and screamed, yet refused to step aside, as if she didn’t believe him. She gave him a defiant glare one which he took as a challenge. “Fuck you, bitch.” He jerked the reins. The horses surged forwards. He made sure to steer them in her direction.

The woman then realized he wasn’t fooling around. She threw herself out of harm’s way a few seconds later, a string of curses leaving her mouth. Smirking to himself, he yanked on the reins harder, prompting the horses to go faster. That had been fun. He wondered if he could scare a few more people. That would teach them. People yelling. Horses screaming. People diving out of the way and swearing. Carriages skidding to a halt. Ah, the beautiful sound of chaos.

As he charged after Strain’s carriage, he was caught unaware when another carriage rammed into him. The impact was so strong he was almost thrown over the side himself, but managed to remain steady. He turned to face the newcomer. Three Templars. One driver and two shooters. The first Templar stood on the seat then placed a foot on the side of the carriage. He then made the jump, tackling Jacob.

Swearing, Jacob threw the Templar off him, making sure to slam his head hard into the railing. When the man recovered, Jacob kneed him in the stomach then pushed him over the edge. The man hit the ground hard, skull smacking the path. He’d be lucky to get out of this one alive. One Templar down, two more to go. The second Templar watched him warily.

“You goin’ to jump?” Jacob taunted.

The Templar didn’t look so confident. “Make the jump, you idiot! Stop him!” the driver panicked.

He lunged, but miscalculated the timing, and ended up colliding with the side of the carriage. Needless to say, he was no longer a threat. Jacob grabbed the reins again and steered his horses to the right, narrowly missing a street light. A few more people leaped out of the way. One called him crazy. Another tried to throw a shoe at him.

The driver reached a hand down into his pocket and pulled out a revolver. _A gun fight then. So be it,_ he thought. He snuck a hand beneath his own coat, and pulled out his own ranged weapon. Before his opponent could pull the trigger, Jacob fired. His shooting skills were less than ordinary, but he managed to get the job done. The bullet struck the driver in the side of the shoulder. Wounded, he released his grip on the reins and jumped out of the carriage. Startled at the sound, the horses took a sharp turn to the left, charging down another street before crashing into a wagon.

With a smirk, Jacob grabbed the reins of his carriage again, and prompted his horses to gallop faster. Up ahead, he saw another carriage pull out of a street. Once again, there were three Templars. One of Templars fired at him. He ducked, narrowly avoiding the bullet. The horses screamed, panicked. They galloped through the streets in a frenzied manner, swaying back and forth, throwing Jacob from side to side.

The swaying motion made his stomach churn. Any more of this and he was going to be sick. The horses made a sharp turn as they crossed to the opposite side of the street. Jacob was thrown off balance, and smacked his head against the side. A sharp implosion of pain erupted in his forehead. He recovered, but felt a little dazed by the impact. Moving items temporarily blurred with each other, and for a split second, he wasn’t sure what was going on.

“Slow down, men!” a Templar roared.

The carriage slowed down, allowing Jacob to catch up. His horses screamed again, and made another rough turn. He clung onto the side for dear life, and held on until his horses settled. There was no other option – he had to abandon the carriage and steal another one. He climbed to his feet and hopped up onto the seat. The bouncing motion made his nausea feel even worse. _Come on, you can do this,_ he told himself.

Bending his knees slightly, he stretched his arms out to both sides to maintain his balance. The Templars didn’t fire, temporarily bemused by the idea of watching him jump. He counted to three. One… two… a Templar fired. The bullet struck one of his horses in the side. As the horse screamed and tried to rear, Jacob flung himself at the opposite carriage.

He tackled the shooting Templar to the seat. The other Templar grabbed him by the nape of the neck, and pulled him up, before delivering a sharp jab to his stomach. With a growl, Jacob thrust both hands forward. Caught by surprise, the Templar staggered backwards, stepped on the driver’s lap, and jumped when the driver screamed. He toppled over the side and out onto the street.

He felt someone grab his leg. The first Templar. Raising his leg, he brought it crashing down, making sure to apply as much weight as possible. The Templar screamed. Jacob turned his attention to the driver and kicked him in the head.

“Ow, fuck,” the man swore, clutching his head with both hands.

Jacob grabbed him by the collar, slammed his forehead into the man’s own skull then lazily pushed over the edge. The driver hit the pavement. Last but not least, the shooter. He bent down, grabbed the collar using both hands and shoved him up against the side. “For fucking with me and making me lose my horses, you deserve this.” Activating his hidden blade, he thrust the weapon into his stomach then withdrew. Seconds later, the Templar joined his comrades on the ground.

With a grunt of satisfaction, Jacob sat back down and took control of the reins. Robert’s carriage was up ahead – he could hear the man yelling orders. He also saw a bridge fast approaching. A bridge could only mean one thing. There was water below. Now more than ever he had to ensure he could control the horses. A jump over the side meant a few minutes of wasted time and that could be just enough for Strain to escape.

“Fire!”

Before Jacob could veer the horses out of the way, the carriage was struck. The horses were still running so they obviously hadn’t been hit. The aim had been to scare them, and it worked too. They veered to the left towards the bridge’s side. “Fuck me,” he swore, bracing himself for impact. Screaming, the horses jumped over the side. Jacob flew out of his seat. He had seconds to react.

Throwing his left arm in the air, he activated the rope launcher. A sturdy rope shot out, a hook at the end which locked onto the side of the bridge. He swung from side to side until it steadied then waited for the rope to pull him up. Very useful item in tight situations. He climbed over the bridge then freed himself before continuing on with the pursuit.

Members of the public rushed to the side to get a glimpse of what happened. Some people tried to talk to him, but he ignored him. One woman tapped him on the shoulder. It was often said it was wrong to hit women, but Jacob didn’t discriminate – he would happily hit anyone regardless of their gender. He turned around and hit her in the face. All that mattered was finding Robert Strain. He didn’t care about the horses, the carriages or the trail of injured and dead Templars on the streets. He was going to find the bastard, and kill him.

“The poor horses!”

“Someone save the horses!”

Jacob sprinted along the streets, searching left and right. Where could the Templar have gone? There were a few residential buildings to the right, a few more to the north, but to the left he saw a sign that read, ‘King’s Cross Station’. Of course. Strain would use the train as protection. Riding a train was more dangerous than riding a carriage, but it would be fun to try something new.

He hurried towards the train station, shoving a few more people out of his way. The place was packed – crowds everywhere. The final boarding call was being read out. He didn’t know which train to catch but he figured Strain would be on the one leaving next on platform one. Rather than take the long way around and take the stairs, he took the easy option and crossed the tracks. Someone called him out. He didn’t know who and he didn’t care. Robert Strain and his Templar pals were up ahead boarding.

“Do you have a boarding pass?”

“No.”

“Then you can’t board the train. Turn around and leave please, sir.”

The train started moving. Fuck. Only one thing to do. Take a risk and jump on the back.

.

“We’re looking for a woman called Evie.”

Evie glanced up from the newspaper on the table and spotted two men standing at the doorway. It was breakfast time now, and the Rooks had joined her downstairs, keeping her company whilst her brother ran off to blow off some steam. She recognized them as the two men from the other day during the brawl at the tavern. They knew her name which meant they had recently crossed paths with Jacob Frye. Most likely he had directed them here to obtain her approval… or distract her.

To her, these men were of no concern, but Charles seemed worried. He turned around, and tapped her on the back and whispered into her ear, “That’s Abraham and Tiny. Two notorious ex-criminals.” He pulled back, his lower lip curled.

Evie rose to her feet and walked over to greet the two men. The tall one, whom she assumed was ‘Tiny’, was certainly an imposing figure with broad shoulders and a strange tattoo on his face. His companion, the man with the green coat, wore a smirk. The man looked her up and down the held out a hand for her to take. “You must be Evie, then. It’s a pleasure to meet you, madam.”

“And I you,” she said curtly. “What brings you here?” The entire tavern had fallen silent. The Rooks had stopped eating their breakfast, more fascinated with watching her interact with these two ‘infamous’ criminals. She wasn’t concerned in the slightest. Should these men try anything, and she’d have a blade pressed up against their throats before they even had a chance to counter.

“We bumped into someone called Jacob Frye. We told him we were looking for work, and he said to send us both to you,” Abraham said, then turned his head, dark eyes taking in his surroundings. He was judging; that much was certain. Perhaps he found it weird there was only one female in the room.

Henry appeared besides her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked at him, an eyebrow raised. He had appeared out of nowhere without warning. He held her gaze. “We can turn them away. Notorious ex-criminals… could attract us the wrong attention, and your brother makes enough trouble for all of us,” he whispered.

“If Jacob trusts them, I can as well,” she replied, her voice low enough for only Henry to hear. “A gang can only become stronger with more people. We’ll need them if we’re going to take this city regardless of their history. My brother will lead them, and I will watch from the shadows.” If she needed to step in, she would, but she trusted her brother would do the right thing would these men. As he liked to mention, he knew these people better than she did. If anyone had a chance of uniting them, it would be her brother.

“So… will you accept us?” Abraham drawled.

Evie averted her gaze from Henry and nodded at Abraham. She accepted his handshake. “Of course. Now let me tell you a few things about the Rooks and our cause.”

.

Jacob kicked the man in the shin and charged forward, throwing himself onto the train, grabbing onto the ladder. He clambered up, and glanced down at the platforms. Hundreds of people were watching him. Some children were pointing. Strangely, there were no policemen in sight. Where had all the police gone?

He walked across the train, knees slightly bent to ensure balance. The train slowly picked up speed as it left the platform behind. Rain began to fall. “Just my fuckin’ luck,” he cursed. He slowed his movements. The surface was slippery. A misstep and he’d slide off the side and lose his chance at killing Strain. Lightning flashed in the distance which was followed by a deep rumble of thunder. _How atmospheric_ , he thought. With any luck, Robert might get struck by some lightning instead.

“So you’re the killer that has been headlining the papers,” a man drawled, stepping out from behind the safety valves. Robert Strain. Two more men popped up behind the whistle, each man equipped with a gun. “Jacob Frye, wasn’t it?”

So, the man knew his name. Evie or Henry had probably mentioned it during their short stay at The Falcon’s Nest. “And you are Robert Strain. I have your money bag. Well, correction. I did. It’s in the trash now.”

There was another flash of lightning followed by another clap of thunder. The rain picked up in its intensity, beginning to bucket down. Within a few seconds, he was drenched from head to toe. “Did you come here to London believing you could save the people here? Don’t you understand how it works? We’ve laid out the foundations of order and we’re building upon that.”

“You’re taking away the basic right for people to live freely,” Jacob retorted.

Robert Strain threw his head back and laughed. “Don’t be a fool, boy! How do you think society improves? There will always be a division between the poor and the rich. You have to work hard to be rewarded – why should we care for those who cannot help themselves?” He spat at the floor. “Your people speak of freedom, but you are never truly free.”

Jacob tightened his jaw. “You have people working in your factories, slaving away day and night, for less than a pound! These people work until they’re broken.”

“And without these people working, who else is going to do it? There’s a place for everyone on the social ladder. It just so happens to be these people are at the bottom. They are unskilled and have no education – they are not missed when they die,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, giving him a mock pitying look. “They’re easily replaced. If the parents aren’t available to work, we take on the children. Children will do anything to help their parents.”

Jacob took a few steps forward, but stopped when the Templars raised their guns. The rain was bucketing down so hard now it was hard to see exactly what was in front of him. But he could hear them and that was enough to fight back. “There won’t be a place for you on the social ladder anymore. Not after today.”

Again, the man laughed. “These people you want to save… Do you really think you can actually help them?”

“Yes.”

“How sweet, really.” Robert’s eyes narrowed. “But you’re wrong. You see, Jacob Frye, you and I are not that much different. We both have a goal – to better society except out methods differ slightly. We will both do whatever it takes to achieve that goal no matter who gets hurt in the process.” He raised both hands up into the air, as lightning crackled above. “Welcome to the new world, Assassin.”

The first Templar fired. Jacob sidestepped and slipped over. Fortunately, he hadn’t gone too close to the edge and was able to climb to his feet without problems. The Templars still had their guns raised, fingers resting on the trigger, ready to pull on command. Jacob searched for his revolver again.

“Don’t shoot him dead,” Robert Strain ordered. “Nora wants him alive!”

Well, at least they weren’t going to shoot to kill, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t return the favour. He concentrated on his surroundings, focusing his senses. The sounds of the train chugging along the train tracks, the claps of thunder and the calming sound of pouring rain. Robert Strain was somewhere at the far end, still most likely behind the safety valves.

He heard someone pull a trigger. He rolled out of harm’s way, narrowly avoiding the bullet. Without sparing a second thought, he fired back through the blinding rain. A shout of pain confirmed he had hit his target. He hurried forward, making sure he remained in the centre of the train as to not slide over the edge. He heard the other Templar pull the trigger.

Another gun shot. A foot away this time. “Even if you succeed today, your reign of power will be short-lived. You haven’t the skills to raise an empire,” Robert Strain taunted. More lighting. Another deep rumble of thunder. The rain was beginning to ease now. The worst of the storm was starting to pass. “Nor do you have the temperament for it.”

Jacob fired again. The second Templar shouted. With the rain now easing, his visibility had improved greatly. The first Templar was still on board the train, sitting down on the ground, face scrunched up in pain, blood pouring out of a leg wound. His gun was nowhere to be seen. As for the second Templar? He had slipped over and fallen off the train. Idiot.

Jacob moved towards Robert, making sure to kick aside the first Templar. Now there were only two people left atop the train – Robert and himself. The man didn’t even show any fear. He seemed to enjoying it. Jacob lowered his gun, putting it back within his coat. He wasn’t going to spare a bullet on this man. No, he deserved a beating.

Robert’s mouth tipped ruefully. “What’s your plan then, Jacob Frye? Unite the working class people under one banner? How is that any different to what we’re doing now?” He took a few steps backwards as Jacob continued moving forwards.

“We don’t exploit the poor for personal gain.”

“And if you succeed in your plans, how will society function? Who will do the ground work in your world? Deny it all you want, Assassin, but this is how the world needs to be to grow though I suppose it’s too much to ask for someone of your kind to understand the complexity of order.”

The rain had reduced to a gentle shower, but the ominous clouds remained. The lower parts of the city’s streets were now small pools. Surprisingly, there were still people walking about, though many of them were wet. Those that were fortunate to have a limitless supply of pounds wore extra coats to provide an extra layer.

He turned to face Strain again. “Your reign of chaos ends here, Robert.”

“Then so be it.”

He charged forward, and made a running leap up onto the elevated platform. The brass knuckles weren’t equipped right now, but he didn’t need them to beat Strain. He lunged. Robert Strain withdrew a small knife and thrust it forwards. To evade the blow, Jacob stepped to the left, just far enough for the knife to pass by. He grabbed Robert’s knife arm, gripped it firmly then slammed his head forward, striking him in the nose.

Robert let out a startled cry, releasing the knife from his hand. He tried to pick it up, but Jacob stomped on his hand, crushing the fingers as best as he could. Seeing Robert’s face scrunch up in pain was a sight to behold. For all his talk, the man could not fight to save his life. He supposed that’s why he had bodyguards with him.

He kicked him in the head with his knee, throwing Strain onto his backside. Before Robert could sit upright, Jacob pinned him to the ground, hidden blade at his throat. “Now you know what it feels like to be helpless, much like the working class people you like to exploit.”

“Then kill me, but know this will not change anything, Assassin. Despite your efforts to stop us, the Order will always rise again from the ashes.” His lips curved upwards into a sneer just as Jacob thrust the blade through his heart. The life in the man’s eyes faded, but the smile remained on his face. Jacob withdrew the bloodstained blade. This was a victory, yet he only felt hollow inside.

He left Strain’s corpse on the train. By the time the train reached its next destination, Strain’s body would be well outside London’s borders. No one would bother trying to track down Strain’s killer. He started heading over towards the streets, pleased the place was devoid of people in this area, though it was a bit strange seeing it so empty when moments earlier it was busy.

“You are under arrest!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos much appreciated ^_^


	14. The Midnight Assassin

He froze. A cold chill raced down his spine. Emerging from the shadows were a handful of police officers, all armed with guns. He turned around, searching for an escape, but the police were there too, slowly walking across the train tracks. He was surrounded, cornered like an animal in the rain. It was then it dawned on him the entire chase had been planned all along.

“Make one move and we’ll shoot!”

Fuck.

“Hands behind your head! Now!”

He raised his hands behind his head and slowly lowered himself to the ground. Two policemen walked up behind him to bind his wrists together with thick rope, fastening it firmly so it cut into his wrists. So much for trying to get away, but perhaps there was a still a chance. He looked around. There were policeman standing in all directions, covering every escape route, and some were even positioned on the roof tops. Perhaps not.

The officers pulled him up from the ground, and pushed him forward, prompting him to walk. They watched him like a hawk. If he tried to escape, they’d most likely shoot him dead. He was after all the infamous serial killer of London. He wondered if they had yet come up with a name for him as they often did with killers.

He was brought forwards to a large man with a thick moustache. His eyes were as blue as the sky, and as cold as ice. A visible scar ran down the centre of his left eyebrow while the right one was half shaved off. His mouth seemed to be fixed in a scowl, as if he was physically incapable of smiling. He was also a good head taller, and carried himself around as if he were a member of royalty.

Jacob was forced down to the ground again, kneeling before whom he suspected was the chief of police. “Isaac Burton, Chief of London Police,” the man said, his voice deep and hoarse. “You, Jacob Frye, are under arrest for the murders of George Smith, Harry Styles, Harry Greenwood and Peter Miles. You are also under arrest for drunken behaviour in public, being a public disturbance, theft, creating mayhem and inflicting grievous bodily harm.”

Bloody Robert fucking Strain. The Templar prick had outsmarted him. The man had gotten the last word after all. No wonder he was smiling when he died. Just what was Evie going to think when she read this on the papers the following morning? According to the public, he was a notorious serial killer. Just how on earth was he going to get out of this mess?

“There won’t be a trial for you, Mr. Frye. Someone who has committed your crimes doesn’t deserve a fair chance. Lian and Tom - check this criminal’s pockets and remove his weapons.”

“At once, sir!”

The two officers that had bound his wrists together came forward and started checking him for weapons. Lian checked his pants and boots for hidden weapons, whilst Tom checked his coat. Jacob gritted his teeth. At least the cane sword was safe back under his bed at the Seven Bells. That was something they didn’t have.

“Revolver, kukri, and some brass knuckles,” Tom reported, laying out the weapons on the ground.

Lian started working on removing the gauntlet. Jacob waited. Any moment now and… A piercing cry erupted from his throat. Clutching an arm, Lian staggered backwards, eyes brimming with tears, face contorting with pain. The boy had triggered the hidden blade and now had a deep wound through his wrist.

“You’re probably going to have that amputated,” Jacob commented.

He was greeted with a punch to the face. He fell over on his side, a deep groan passing through his lips. That hurt. Gazing up, he spotted Isaac towering over him, scowl deepening. “You’ll spend tonight in the jailhouse. Tomorrow you’ll face the death sentence. A fitting end for a criminal of your calibre. Tom, remove the glove.”

Tom bit his bottom lip, approaching the glove with caution. Lian howled in the background, lying on the ground, arm clutched to his chest. The gauntlet was removed and thrown onto the floor with the other weapons. Never had he felt so vulnerable as he did right now. Not that he often relied on weapons other than his bare hands, but he felt so exposed.

“An interesting arsenal of weapons you have here, Mr. Frye,” Isaac said, eyes studying his tools. “They don’t sell these weapons here in London shops.” He then turned back around. Jacob thought he saw the corners of the man’s mouth curve upwards into a twisted smile, but he might’ve just been imagining it. “You’re an outsider, aren’t you? Well, it doesn’t matter what you are. From tomorrow onwards, you’re not going to matter. You’ll be nothing more than a name written in the criminal books. Put him in the carriage!”

A carriage turned around the corner at the precise moment. It only confirmed his suspicions this entire scenario had been planned. Isaac grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him up to standing position. It was a struggle climbing into the seat without his hands. A few men snickered as he clumsily climbed in, using his chin to assist. Isaac pushed him from behind. He stumbled over and fell on the floor of the carriage.

Isaac climbed in after, pulled Jacob upright, then sat down in the driver’s seat. “Your reign of chaos is over, Mr. Frye.”

.

Henry was growing increasingly worried about Evie. She had spent the past thirty minutes pacing back and forth, fingers drumming on her lower lip. Jacob hadn’t returned yet. Four hours had since passed since he had departed on his kill Robert Strain mission. “I should’ve done more to stop him,” she told herself.

“You did all you could,” Henry assured. “I’m sure your brother is fine. He might take things to the extreme, but he’s always gotten the job done, right?”

She looked at him. “He’s going to kill a Templar in broad daylight. This isn’t going to end well. Whenever he goes on a rampage, something bad happens.”

He placed his hands on both her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. “Evie, this isn’t you. You’re the calm one. Stop stressing.” It was rare to see the elder twin looking so worried. Even in pressure heavy situations, she always retained a cool head and composed state. He wondered what could have happened to make her so anxious. Another fight with Jacob? That was often a good reason. Anyone fighting with her brother was bound to feel jittery afterwards.

“I should go and find him. He’s probably found himself in trouble again.” Evie pulled away from him and made a break for the door, but he stepped in front of her path, blocking her exit. “Henry, please step aside.”

“You can’t leave the Rooks here on their own,” Henry said. The Rooks were currently out the back in the kitchen learning how to cook. Paul had decided if they were going to stay here they needed to help out with running the bar. Things had not been turning out so well. There had already been a few mini explosions. One Rook had ran out of the kitchen area, black scorch marks all over his face. “You’re their leader as well, Evie. If you leave now, they’re going to follow. They’re not ready for something like this – not yet.”

She brought a hand to her forehead, rubbed a temple then exhaled deeply. “You’re right.”

“I’ll find Jacob, and I’ll bring him home, all right?”

She held his gaze for a couple of moments longer then nodded. “I know you will.” She glanced over her shoulder. “The Rooks are growing restless. They feel my brother has abandoned them. I don’t know what I can do to settle them.”

So her brother’s disappearance wasn’t the only source behind her stress. The Rooks were a concern to her too. “Do they bother you?”

“They make me feel uneasy,” she said. “They’re boisterous, messy and careless. I can handle my brother, but these men are criminals. I don’t trust them.”

Henry didn’t trust them either. Who knew what sort of crimes these boys had committed? Who could even know if these men were going to remain loyal to the Fryes after the Templar presence was removed? For all he knew they could just be agreeing to help to further their own ambition. All they could do was hope Jacob could hold them together. “You’re going to have to pretend that you do, Evie. You’re responsible for them now, remember?”

“I suppose I could try and teach them a few things,” she murmured. He could already see a plan formulating in her mind. That was the Evie he knew. The one who was could see what needed to be done in advance.

“You’ve taught Assassins before.”

“Assassins are easy to tutor,” she said. “They’re willing to learn and listen, and they follow the same set of morals. These people my brother recruited only desire coin.”

“Then reward them with coin for a job well done. They’ll be eager to prove themselves, and they’ll work harder.”

She lifted a brow. “I didn’t expect that from you, Henry. What happened to ‘this is complete madness’?”

“We can’t reverse what’s already been done,” Henry explained. “We’ll need as many loyal men and woman as possible if we hope to survive this ordeal. You’re brother has started a war, and it can’t be won with one man.”

She ran a hand through her hair. “Don’t remind me.”

“I’ll be back by dawn tomorrow. Keep the Rooks settled.”

“Don’t be late.”

He nodded in response then turned his back to leave. Things were looking pretty grim. Jacob was off somewhere in London most likely caught up in trouble, the Rooks were becoming unsettled without their leader already and Evie was stressed. Not to mention the two latest recruits, Abraham and Tiny, made them both uneasy. It was something in the eyes that brought him discomfort – there was no emotion at all. He turned the right corner and headed down the footpath, being sure to pay attention to the conversations of passerby’s. Eavesdropping was often the best way to obtain information without having to do the work yourself.

“…Two horses drowned they say…”

“…It was the murderer! I saw him myself speed past!”

“…I saw him steal a carriage…”

Local gossip. Hard to tell what was true and what wasn’t, but all those stories definitely sounded like something Jacob would do. Where on earth was he now?

“…I saw this guy just jump down from the side of a building into a haystack!”

That confirmed it. Definitely Jacob Frye. He continued walking up the street, taking brisk steps, hoping to come across some more information. He didn’t have to walk very far when he spotted a woman wailing in the streets. People were walking around her, doing their best to avoid talking to her.

“Please, I need coin! I won’t be able to feed my family tonight!” the woman wailed. Henry noticed there was a black mark beneath one of her eyes. Punched? He approached her. Her eyes fixed on him, relief washing over her face. “You look like a kind man! Please, I need coin!”

“What happened to you?”

“I was robbed! My money stolen by a thief! He took my horses as well and left me with nothing but this bruise on my face!” she cried.

Never harm the innocent, the first tenant of the Creed broken. The second tenant had been broken yesterday, and he wouldn’t be surprised to know if the third one had been broken as well. That was Jacob Frye in a nutshell –always finding new ways to overstep boundaries. “Here, take this,” Henry said, handing the woman a pouch of pounds. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Can you tell me where this criminal went?”

She pointed to the north. “That way.”

“Thank you. Take care of yourself.”

He continued walking, leaving the stunned woman behind. So Jacob had taken to stealing carriages and beating up people now? What other chaos had he gotten up to? Now he could see why Evie was so worried. Her brother was flirting with danger. It was almost as if he wasn’t aware of what the consequences his actions would bring until it was too late.

He turned the corner and covered a few more metres when he spotted a crowd of people huddled around chattering. Pushing his way through the crowd, he reached the front to see what all the fuss was about. A dead horse. Shot in the side. Some of the children were crying. “What happened here?” Henry asked an elderly fellow standing to his right.

“There was a big fight,” the man said, gesturing to the fallen horse. “The Templars were shooting at this man, and they missed.”

A gun fight in public? He had a feeling the Templars started that one. Jacob didn’t like using long ranged weapons unless he had no other choice. “Which direction did they take?” The man pointed north. Up ahead in the distance he saw a few people examining something on the ground. A corpse most likely. “Thanks.”

What a path of destruction. Every couple of metres he learned just a little bit more about the ‘big chase’. That was what the locals were referring to. They spoke of it as if it was the most exciting thing that had happened all year. It probably was. He quickened his pace. Soon he reached the group who were studying a fallen Templar.

He was alive. He heard the man wheezing, calling for medical assistance. Some of the people tried to help them, but none looked qualified for the role. He continued moving, breaking out into a steady jog. He saw the remains of a broken carriage to the left. The horses had broken free, and there were people gathering around, looking to pinch what was ever left.

He soon reached the bridge. Again, there was a large crowd. Most of them were peering over the western side, glancing downwards. Some of them were pointing in the distance. A few police officers were trying to escort people away from what was quickly becoming a crime scene. He hurried past them, avoiding their gaze by blending in with the crowd. Last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself.

Eventually, he reached the other side of the crowded bridge. Police officers were doing their best to drive people away from the scene, but they refused to leave. A few fights started to break out. One man shoved an officer. The officer shoved back. Someone else joined in and threw a punch. Within seconds, an all-out brawl happened.

“…Something is happening! Look! Over there to the left!”

Henry looked. He saw the train station to the left. For a moment, he didn’t understand why people were looking at the train station then he saw the reason for the excitement. Across from the train station was the Metropolitan Police cells used for holding criminals for twenty four hours. Some criminals were freed if they could pay up. If they couldn’t afford the fee, they were moved to Pentonville Prison.

The building itself wasn’t impressive. It was a rather small building, no bigger than the Seven Bells tavern, built out of orange bricks with small windows. It was three storeys high. The higher the level, the smaller the windows were. He suspected that’s where the criminals were kept overnight while they awaited their fate. Before the building was a group of officers. They appeared to be escorting a man dressed in a black trench coat inside.

It couldn’t be anyone else but the younger Frye sibling. “What sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into now, Jacob?” he murmured. Getting inside the building was going to be no easy task. Right now it was guarded. Killing the officers was forbidden – they weren’t Templars after all, and really hadn’t done anything wrong other than enforce the law.

He gazed upwards. Night was still a few hours away. He had a few hours to come up with a plan and rescue the younger twin before he was transferred to the impenetrable Pentonville Prison. He studied the building again. As with many buildings in the city, the cells had a chimney. He drew in a deep breath and moved away from the excited crowd, heading towards the train station where he could spy from a distance.

Bloody Jacob Frye.

.

He fell on the hard floor, face-first. With a groan, he forced himself upright, and cast a scathing look at his gaolers. The two men just laughed, and locked the gate of the iron bars. His hands were still bound – Isaac believed he was too dangerous so the rope remained, cutting into the skin of his wrists. He could feel blood seeping through the wounds and that only agitated him further. It didn’t really matter though since escape was impossible. There was a window but it was so small, not even a rabbit could fit through.

The room itself was bare. There was a wooden bed pushed up against the eastern wall lacking sheets and pillows, and a single bare bench on the opposite side. Up against the northern wall was a small white bucket, half filled with suspicious murky brown water. He sat down on the bed. No weapons. No way of escape. Things were looking were pretty grim. Evie and Henry would most likely come looking for him once they noticed he was taking too long. He just had to hope they’d come and get him soon otherwise he’d face the death penalty which was rumoured to take place at Pentonville Prison.

At the moment, he was sitting in a station guard’s cell. Apparently, someone of importance wanted to speak with him privately before the execution was to take place. He climbed to his feet again and walked over to the iron bars trying to get a glimpse of the exterior of his cell. His two gaolers had left, but he could clearly hear their laughter echoing throughout the hall.

“Do not make yourself too comfortable, Mr. Frye,” Isaac said, approaching from the left side, clutching a paper on his left hand. The man was still dressed in his black uniform though he had abandoned the helmet. He strode up to the bars and smiled. “We have been tracking your activities for a few weeks now. It was thanks to an event at The Thistle’s Crown were we able to gain a lead on you.”

Jacob snorted. “A bit slow on the take, aren’t you?”

The smile widened. “Save your insults, Mr. Frye. They will not help you now.”

“What do you want then? Did you come here to watch me?”

“I’m fascinated in you, that’s all. I’ve served the Metropolitan Police for a decade now. I’ve caught rapists, thieves, beggars, and the occasional murderer, but you Mr. Frye – you are a different kind of animal.” He pushed the newspaper through the bars, a wry smile spreading across his face. Jacob looked down and read the first headline.

“The Midnight Assassin,” he read slowly. He glanced up, and cocked an eyebrow. “Surely, they could’ve come up with a better name than that?”

“It’s a title that sells,” Isaac replied. He started pacing back and forth, one hand behind his back, the other rubbing his chin. “Four men dead, all of whom who served the Templars. Four more Templars died yesterday during your rampage through the streets. A woman robbed in broad daylight, buildings damaged in the streets, and a few dead horses. Something tells me you have problems with people in respectable positions and that you have a taste for chaos.”

Jacob gave a sardonic laugh. “You know nothing.”

“Oh, but I think I know you better than you think, Mr. Frye,” Isaac said curtly. “All the killers that I have brought to justice all had problems with upbringing. Daddy issues, divorce, financial problems… You know the sort. I believe you fit into one or two of those categories. What was it, then? You grew up in the slums or was it that your daddy didn’t love you enough? Perhaps it was a combination of both.”

“What if I said it was neither of those things?”

“Then I would say that I don’t believe you. Everyone has a reason for their actions. Some are fuelled by greed and power, others lust for money.” He stopped walking and looked at Jacob again, a knowing smile on his face. “Everyone wants to feel important in this era, and who could blame them? This is the age of innovation and invention, the beginnings of a new and better world.”

He was reminded vaguely of Robert Strain. They were both in positions of respectable authority, and believed in the new world idea, except Isaac was the Chief of Police and not a Blighter. “You didn’t just visit my cell to talk about the new world. Why did you come?”

“I want to know why you killed those people. What motivation did you have for committing such a vile deed?”

“Why does it matter what I say? Want to hear the confessions of a dead man?”

Isaac chuckled, though there was no humour in his laughter. “Perhaps I’m interested in getting to understand you better. It’s not very often I have a chance to talk face to face with a serial killer.”

“How about you untie my hands and then we’ll talk.”

He laughed again, his eyes alive with mirth. “You will talk. Bloody Nora will make sure of that.” Bloody Nora, as in the leader of the Blighters? She was the important person who was coming here to talk with him? A muscle jerked in his jaw. “I see you recognize the name, that’s good. Whatever Bloody Nora wants, she gets. That’s why you’re here now in a cell.” 

The man stopped talking, turning his head to the left. Footsteps. One person. Had to be Bloody Nora. Evie wouldn’t attack during the daylight hours. She was probably formulating a strategy right now to save him once again. Chances are, she would’ve heard about the incident. Word travelled surprisingly fast in London despite the place being so big.

A woman turned around the corner. It was the same woman he had seen at The Falcon’s Nest the previous morning. She was shorter than his sister and slimmer too, but had the look of someone who would do anything to ensure the goal was obtained. She raised her hand and pointed it at the door. “Open the door. I would like to speak with him without bars separating us.”

“Are you sure that’s wise, Nora? He’s a trained killer.”

“I’ll be fine, Isaac. I’m not a weak defenceless woman.”

“Very well then.”

Isaac dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small key. Inserting it into the keyhole, he turned it clockwise until the gate popped open. Jacob took a few steps back, hesitant. If only his hands were free then he could escape this place. Nora stepped through the door and stood directly in front of him. She came up to his shoulder, but she didn’t seem deterred by the height difference. Not that she’d have any reason to be worried – she had all the power here.

“Isaac, you are dismissed. I will call for you when I’m finished here.”

“But-”

“This is Templar business, now. Leave.” Isaac nodded. He drew back from the gate then took his leave. She waited until he was out of sight then carried on speaking, closing the door behind her after removing the key. “You’ve caused us a lot of trouble, Assassin. Four of my young recruits are dead at your hands, and four Templars from the Strand will never see light of day again. Two horses have drowned, two more are injured and properties have been damaged. I have to say I am rather impressed.”

“Glad you appreciate my work.”

She struck him in the face. “Your fun ends here, Assassin. There is no place for you or your kind here in our world.” She drew a hand into her black coat and pulled out a revolver. Aiming it at the space on the floor before his legs, she pulled back the trigger, firing the bullet. It was so unexpected that he fell backwards, and onto the cold floor, the sound of gunfire echoing in his head. It was even louder in small places. He struggled to get back up. Who knew it was so bloody difficult to get back upright without your hands?

She grabbed a clump of his hair and helped him up into a seating position, a finger still resting on the trigger. He peered up just in time for her to strike him again, this time in the right cheek. He spat at her feet, glowering. “Charming, really. Is this how you recruit men and women to your Order?”

“Did you really think you could outsmart me?”

“You lost quite a few of your men today. Thought you might be a little upset.”

She shrugged. “They can easily be replaced.”

“Your man Robert Strain didn’t put up much of a fight.”

Again, she shrugged. “He was always a fool, that one. He was expendable.” She paced back and forth, spinning the gun around in her hand, humming a tune he didn’t recognize. “How did you feel killing Robert Strain, Assassin? Did you enjoy it?” she said, pausing momentarily to aim the gun at his forehead.

“Enough with the games,” he said through gritted teeth. “Did you come here just to boast about your victory?”

“I could kill you right now, Assassin, but I’m choosing to let you live.”

“Right, because you need to let the public win something for a change,” he replied curtly.

Bloody Nora smirked. “Happy workers are efficient,” she said, her dark eyes alight with feral pain.

“Only that they’re not,” he retorted. “You and your Order – you’re exploiting the working class for your own personal gain! There are people living out there on the streets that have to steal to survive while you and your fucking Order standby to watch them suffer. I suppose that helps you sleep better at night.”

She looked at him blankly. “You have such a narrow-minded view on the world, Assassin. Someone has to control the people. Someone has to make progress happen. Do you think that if we followed your philosophy that we would have even made it to this era? You and your kind only look a few months into the future – we look decades ahead. We see the bigger picture. That is why you’ll never succeed.”

“You think you’ve already won.”

“Why should I think otherwise?” Her eyes narrowed. “Your Brotherhood left London in a state of ruin. _We_ came in and we fixed it. What have your people ever done other than murder and steal? You accuse us of committing evil acts, but history has shown that the lines are blurred, Assassin. Did you not hear of what happened in Lisbon? The Assassins committed a crime that killed more people than my Order ever did.”

Lisbon. He read about it somewhere. Something about an Assassin turned Templar called Shay Cormac. He couldn’t recall much of the finer details, but he knew he hated Shay. Traitor to the Brotherhood. “What happened in Lisbon has nothing to do with us. Besides, you’ve got it all wrong – I’m not part of a Brotherhood. I live by my own rules.”

“So you’re an Assassin without a code? Doesn’t that make you a criminal then?”

“I am _not_ a criminal.” How he was beginning to dislike hearing that term. He was not a criminal, yet both the law and the Templars saw him as one. Could they not see what he was trying to fight for? “We’re trying to make this place better for those who have been deprived of basic rights!”

She gave a bleak laugh. “And you really believe you can save these people? How adorable, but it’s just a dream, Assassin.” She knelt down in front of him and brought her face to his right ear and whispered, “The world you wish to live in doesn’t exist nor will it ever.”

He smashed his head forward, connecting his skull with hers. “Isaac!” she called, climbing to her feet, immediately aiming the gun at him again. Footsteps echoed throughout the hallway and a few moments later Jacob found Isaac standing in the cell. “Bring him down!” she shrieked, shuffling out of the cell.

Before he could do anything, Isaac charged forward, and swung a punch. Jacob dodged – he might not have his hands, but he still could move. He kicked out a leg. Isaac stepped back, narrowly avoiding the strike. While the man regained his composure, Jacob moved forward swiftly and rammed a knee into his stomach. The man spluttered.

Nora fired a bullet at the space next to him. He froze. “Come on now, this isn’t a fair fight.”

Whilst he was busy looking at Nora and her gun, he was caught unaware when Isaac rammed into him with his shoulder. He was forced into the wall, back slamming up against the bench. The edge drove into his back. Pain spurred him on. Using his head again as a weapon, he forced Isaac back. Moments later, he felt a knee ram into him in the gut. He dropped to the ground, and brought his knees up towards his chest, to protect himself from further harm.

“About bloody time,” Nora snapped. “I want him transferred to Pentonville Prison as early as possible tomorrow. I’ll have him flogged first then we’ll have him executed before the public.” She wiped her brow. “Double the guard! If he has friends, I’m sure they’ll come looking for him. Perhaps we’ll kill two birds with one stone.”

Someone spat on him. Someone else kicked him in the shin then he felt their presence leave the room, hearing the turning of a key. He squeezed his eyes shut. Time was running out.

.

Pulling his hood over his head, Henry crouched down and crept across the ground, looking both ways for any signs of trouble. Night had fallen. The sky was absent of clouds for a change allowing the brilliant starts to light up the sky. However, tonight was not the time for stargazing. There was a far more important mission at hand – save a certain troublemaker called Jacob Frye. Fortunately, many of the officers had headed home to their beds.

He reached the side of the building and started climbing up its walls. It had been several years since he had last undertaken a mission like this. He last remembered undertaking a stealth mission during the peak years of the British Brotherhood. The event was clear in his mind. In 1862, the world’s first underground railway was being constructed. A body had been discovered, and Templars and Assassins blamed each other for the incident, sparking hostilities to arise.

Assassins were murdered as the Templars began to form gangs to take control of the city. As one of the last few remaining Assassins in town, Henry claimed the title of leader of the British Brotherhood, and led a final push against the Templars. The result had only ended in bloodshed. Defeated, all the Assassins left, leaving him to be the last one left.

It was 1868 now. He still hadn’t forgiven himself for the horrific events that had taken place during that year, but had pushed those thoughts aside when he crossed paths with the Frye twins a few months back. They believed he was just an Assassin who had come to London to help restore order – just like they had – He didn’t want them to know he was the reason the British Brotherhood had fallen apart.

He reached the rooftop and snuck over to the chimney. Fortunately, it was wide enough to drop down through. He climbed down through the hole then released, landing on the ground with a gentle thud. Unmoving, he held his position for a couple of moments, waiting for the sound of footsteps. No one came. Either there were no officers inside or they had fallen asleep on the job. He placed his bets on the latter. That’s when most of the crime happened – during the night when most people were fast asleep.

Only a few lights were switched on, allowing just enough light to get a fair view of his location. The interior of the prison was quite bland. Bare white walls. Wooden floors. There were six empty cells on this floor. Steel iron bars served as a protective barrier. Each cell had a bit of a musky scent as well. Like a strange mixture of urine and something else. He slipped a hand beneath his robes and grabbed his kukri. He didn’t intend to use it, but it was just an insurance policy encase something went wrong. Pressing his back against the wall, he edged across slowly until he reached the end.

He poked his head around the corner and spotted a flight of stairs leading to the next level. Again, he waited for the sounds of footsteps, but his keen senses heard nothing. Taking in a deep breath, he turned the corner and headed up the stairs, taking one at a time. Still nothing. Perhaps the officers had left the building, but why?

“Jacob Frye?” he whispered, poking around another corner. There were four cells on this floor. Two on the left and two on the right.

“Henry?” came the muffled response. “The coast is clear. There’s no one here.”

Henry crept across the floor to the cell on the far eastern side. Jacob Frye was lying down on the ground looking a little worse for wear, looking paler than usual. The gauntlet was missing on his left hand. His other weapons were probably gone too, hiding somewhere on the main floor. The keys to unlock the cage would be down there too. Surely, the warden would still be here.

“What happened?”

Jacob sat up and crawled over to the gate. “I killed Robert Strain then discovered it was set up. Bloody Nora had it all planned. Speaking of Nora, I met her today. Met a nice lad called Isaac too. Chief of Police.”

As much as he wanted to know more, all the details could come later when they were safely back at the Seven Bells. “We need to get you out of here. Do you know who is holding the keys and where it is?”

“Downstairs, I’d imagine. Look for a big guy.”

“Your sister is worried.”

He rolled his eyes. “If you don’t get me out of here soon she won’t have to worry about me anymore. Now go, steal the key then come back here and free me. Been sitting here for the past couple of hours looking at the bloody wall.”

“All right. Just keep your mouth shut, okay?”

“Will do.”

Henry headed back towards the staircase and slowly made his way down, being sure to stop every couple of stairs to listen for suspicious sounds. He made it down to the second flight of stairs when he heard a cough. Police, at last. One of them had to have the cell door key.

“Tomorrow will be a grand day. The public will know that we can be trusted to keep them safe,” a policeman said.

“Where do you think he got those weapons from? I’ve never seen anything like them before,” said another, his voice deep and rough.

“The British Brotherhood, I believe. I know they’ve been gone for almost a decade now, but I’m sure they’re still around.”

“You think our prisoner is one of them?”

Pause, then, “It’s possible. He has the weapons. Either that or he just came across them by chance or looted a corpse and took them for himself.”

“Shit. What if there’s more of them?”

“The Blighters will deal with them. Our job is to protect the citizens and uphold the law. We don’t interfere with Templar business unless we’re needed for back up support.”

“Well, that’s true. I don’t want to get too involved anyway. I remember the last time Templars and Assassins fought. Never seen so many dead. Anyway, I’m going to check up on our prisoner. Might give him a bottle of piss to drink.”

Laughter followed. Henry looked around for a place to hide. Unfortunately, there was nothing to hide in. All he could do was go back up the stairs then use the element of surprise to knock the man unconscious. He crept back up and crouched down in the place where it was darkest. One… two… three…. He jumped. Before the policeman could response, Henry wrapped his hands around his neck, and waited for the man to weaken. The man turned limp. Henry laid him gently down on the floor and searched his pockets but found nothing.

Perhaps the other officer had the keys. He dragged the body to the shadows. In an hour or so, the man would wake up. Fortunately, he hadn’t seen his face. “Hey Richard, I forgot to tell you something!” Henry hid in the shadows again. The other police officer walked up the stairs. “Richard?”

Henry sprung forward. He pushed the man backwards, and slammed his head into the wall as hard as he could. “Sorry about that.” The man’s eyes rolled back, as he slid down the wall and onto the floor. He dropped down to his knees and searched the pockets. Ah. Keys. He picked them up and hurried back up to the topmost floor where Jacob was clinging onto the bars.

“I’ve got the keys.”

“Great. Open the door.” Henry wasted no time inserting the key into the lock. He turned it clockwise, heard the satisfying unlocking sound and pulled it open. “Cut the ropes. This fucking thing is cutting into my skin.” He turned around and held out his arms as best as he could. Henry brought his kukri forward and cut through the rope. It fell to the floor.

“We need to find your equipment.”

“When I came in, there was a room to the right where they took it. I’d say it’s in there somewhere.”

Jacob darted down the stairs. Henry chased after him, not wanting to lose sight of the younger Frye. “Jacob!” he hissed. “Slow down!”

Jacob turned a corner and Henry followed. “See that?” he said, raising a hand, and pointing to the opposite side of the room at a wooden door. “They went through there. I’d say that’s the head office of this place, but the boss isn’t around. He left with Nora after they knocked me out. Didn’t hear him returning.”

“Is there a key for the door?”

“Isaac’s probably taken it with him. We’re goin’ to have to knock it down.”

“That’ll attract attention. Too much noise.”

“Then we better be prepared to fight our way out. I’m not leaving without those weapons.”

It was never a dull moment with Jacob Frye around. Henry sighed, and nodded, surrendering once again to the Frye way of life. “You Frye’s are going to be the death of me,” he muttered.

Jacob just grinned, and gave him a clap on the shoulder. “I think I’m starting to see why Evie likes being in your company. You both have no sense of adventure.”

“Excuse me?” Henry protested.

He snickered. “Come on, let’s break this door down.”

Henry stood to the side keeping guard while Jacob kicked at the door. He kicked it four or five times until the wooden plank started to give way. Each kick made Henry jump. It was dead silent at this time of night; he wouldn’t be surprised if people on the other side of the road could hear the sounds of the wood snapping in half. He gave it one last kick. The door snapped off its hinges and fell down.

The office was also small. There was a plain table with a couple of documents laid out on the surface, and a half-full glass of water besides it. A dark shade of brown cabinet with two drawers was pressed up against the eastern bare wall, whilst on the opposite, was a bench with a sink in it. He grabbed the documents off the table, folded them up and slipped them within his robes for later reading.

Jacob wandered over to the cabinet and pulled open the drawers. He grabbed his equipment – revolver, kukri, and what looked like some item that went on the hands – then turned around and nodded at Henry. “We should leave.”

“Lead the way.”


End file.
